


fire meet gasoline

by sten06



Series: Andrea/Sam/Lena [1]
Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Alcohol, Enemies With Benefits, Enemies to Lovers, Ex Girlfriend Drama, F/F, Hate Sex, but there's just a lot of hooking up, check ch 7 end notes for who is endgame if you want to spoil, fun smut and sort of angst but mostly just drama, i can't believe there's a sam/andrea tag, this is purely self-indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:08:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 81,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22946044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sten06/pseuds/sten06
Summary: sam arias and andrea rojas despise each other.they also constantly find themselves in the same circles, at the same conferences, at the same lonely places at exactly the same time. what happens when they're thousands of miles from home with only alcohol to keep them company?hint: hate sex, naturally.
Relationships: Lena Luthor/Andrea Rojas, Samantha "Sam" Arias/Andrea Rojas, Samantha "Sam" Arias/Lena Luthor
Series: Andrea/Sam/Lena [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1649074
Comments: 141
Kudos: 401





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> listen, i know this is a crack ship but they're so hot you can't help but indulge. let's go.
> 
> you can read this with a rojascorp or reigncorp lens on, because i plan to continue this in a series of one shots (or possibly just continuing this fic in particular, who knows). essentially, all the pairings will hook up at a certain point. tbd who is truly endgame ;) 
> 
> come yell at me on tumblr about these 3 in particular (i know lena doesn't play a huge role YET but like... if you know me, you know she will). 
> 
> thank you emma and nicole for screaming at me and distracting me from work so much that i had to write this. you the real MVPs. and emma thank you also for beta-ing and fixing the nonsense parts. 
> 
> and yes, i've got the follow up already outlined because i've spun completely out of control.

The Tech-Xpo is a fast-paced, razzle-dazzle affair that takes place once a year in northwest Beijing, a far cry from the familiar streets of Metropolis. The ticket is the hottest in town, and for one weekend in June, the booming city is taken over by up and coming entrepreneurs looking for their big break, and well established corporate insiders just waiting to drop the next big announcement. Influencers and consumers buzz with anticipation, all eagerly speculating on the one thing that will send the rest of the world into a buying frenzy.

For the twittersphere, it’s electrifying.

For everyone else, in a word, it’s a nightmare.

Sam Arias checks her watch. 7:30. The L-Corp sponsored cocktail party has only just started, and it’s far too early to make a casual exit. As CFO, and acting representative, she’ll never be able to pass it off as acceptable, no matter how well she lies.

She glances around the room, a cleared out convention center space adorned with high top tables for VIP guests to mingle. Music that no one really recognizes, but somehow manages to sound vaguely familiar, plays in the background. With L-Corp being the sponsor, part of her job description apparently means she’s responsible for schmoozing with the right people, but mostly she’s content in keeping her distance, avoiding anyone that isn’t a waiter with a free champagne flute. It's not that she's not interested in any of these things. She can appreciate a snazzy hotel surrounded by overpriced restaurants that she doesn't have to pay for, and she definitely likes being able to understand what the hell Ruby is talking about when she comes home from school rambling about needing the newest product released from Obsidian. Which is always a no, by the way. She isn’t going to give Andrea Rojas anymore money.

But really, at the end of the day, the fanfare and small talk is exhausting, and all she really wants to do is to kick off her shoes, grab a nice cold drink, and maybe curl up with some friendly company.

Her neck tie feels tight, her sleeves constricting after an entire day of forced posturing and performance. She stretches her neck to the side, taking an opportunity to scope out her surroundings.

Who does she have to screw to get a glass of whiskey around here?

As if by some tragic intervention, the crowd thins around her, and her eyes fall on a figure standing in the center of a small group of people. She’s familiar, all curves and lavish style, in a black dress that doesn’t leave much to the imagination. With her back to Sam, she’s a bit hard to place. She’s clearly expensive, and probably important, but before Sam can become intrigued, the woman turns slightly, revealing a side profile that’s all soft jaw and pouty lips until her mouth curves into a dangerous smirk.

Sam’s stomach drops. She knows that face. She lowkey _despises_ that face.

It’s Andrea Rojas, CEO of Obsidian Tech, and new head of CatCo thanks to Lena’s _generosity_. Sam recalls the recent deal with simmering annoyance. She thought they were done with Andrea Rojas, but somehow she just keeps finding her way back. Like some kind of modern day Hydra who gets worse the more you strike.

So that’s how this night is going to go, Sam realizes, staring down the woman across the room.

It’s the third time in so many hours that Sam has seen her. Truly, like clockwork, it seems that wherever Sam goes, there’s Andrea. She wishes this event was an anomaly, but she should be so lucky. No, this is just the way it is now: no matter where her business trips seem to take her, somehow she finds Andrea Rojas in her orbit. If they aren’t in the same break out sessions, they’re waiting in the same line for the restroom. If they aren’t forced to acknowledge each other by the coffee maker in the back of a packed seminar, they’re placed at the same table during an awards dinner.

One time, they even ended up on the same 17 hour flight, sitting across the aisle from each other, actively pretending not to notice. This all happened while secretly keeping tabs out of the corner of their eyes, talking overly loudly to their seat companions in a ridiculous game of “who did it better.”

The way they keep running into each other can’t really be explained. It’s just like the gods of fate are all in on a really awful joke at Sam’s expense.

Now, obviously, logically, Sam knows that’s not the case. It just so happens that L-Corp and Obsidian are the two biggest names in the game right now, and with Lena pawning off her offerings on any willing buyer (or, more specifically, on Andrea), the two have become more entangled than ever. So of course they should be forced to co-exist on this merry-go-round of a circuit. It all makes for great competition, and even better speculation.

The problem comes when Sam has to fill in for Lena -- then it just becomes _interesting_.

Sam Arias and Andrea Rojas. The relatively unknown CFO with enough charm to dazzle even the surliest investors and the blue eyed CEO who can command a board room with just a look.

What a pair.

Sam shakes her head, watching the way Andrea stands tall and regal, materializing as if out of thin air. She’s taken the time to change, which Sam loathes to admit was a great idea, one she really should have done herself. Her hand is gently cupping a wine glass, her head tilted in what Sam is sure is faux empathy. She's listening as some self-important looking man talks in her ear, but Sam catches the way her eyes wander, darting around the room like she's assessing targets. She nods along with whatever the conversation indicates, at practiced intervals, but it's clear her mind is elsewhere. Sam shakes her head, scoffing under her breath. When it comes to events like this and rubbing elbows with the "elite", Andrea Rojas really is the worst of the worst. She's a snob, plain and simple, and it's only a matter of time until this entire weekend turns into the Andrea Rojas Show for Obsidian Tech.

Sam scolds herself for even _looking_ in that direction, but the cell phone buzzing in her jacket pocket is a welcome interruption.

A message from Lena pops up on the screen.

Sam's heart sinks a little at the coincidental timing, and the weird, jarring reminder that Andrea and Lena will always be... something. Though how that's possible, she has no idea. As far as Sam is concerned, Andrea is The Worst, with capital letters, and no amount of Lena's gentle explanations and hushed whispers on her friend’s behalf will convince her otherwise.

_Lena: I hope you’re behaving_

Sam rolls her eyes at this, typing back quickly, her fingers flying with unnecessary force.

_Sam: I always behave._

It's as if Lena can just sense Sam is about to cause a scene, and for that, she almost laughs.

_Lena: Well I haven't seen you on the news yet, so that's a good sign._

Sam can practically see Lena’s amused smile, her eyebrow jutting skyward as she teases through the phone. She wonders if she’s home, if she’s curled up on her couch with a glass of wine, her hair curling in wet ringlets down her shoulders, fresh from a recent shower… nope. No, not tonight. Not going there. Her chest squeezes uncomfortably. She pushes those thoughts away, a practice she’s far too familiar with, and forces herself to concentrate.

_Sam: It's still early. Speaking of, shouldn’t you be sleeping?_

She sighs before tucking her phone away. A few more rounds of back and forth and she’ll be a goner. There’s far too much of this night left for her to come undone.

Lena is the reason she's in this situation to begin with. This is _her_ thing, after all. The invitation to the event had her name on it, as they so often do. The party being hosted was _her_ idea. But of course, Lena had some other pressing engagement, and so Sam was practically forced to be her stand in.

Maybe ‘forced’ is a bit harsh. But when Lena had come _begging_ , her grin lopsided and suggestive like they were the only two people in on a tremendous secret, Sam knew she was in trouble. It was the end of a long week, and Lena definitely took advantage of Sam’s good nature and fatigue. Not that it would have been a fight. As far as Sam is concerned, Lena could get away with murder and she’d probably help bury the body. That’s just… them. At least, how they used to be. She isn’t sure how they are now, since so much has happened, so much distance created between them. But, for her part, Sam feels even stronger for Lena than before, whatever that means.

So, when Lena came into the office and asked Sam to go overseas to a conference with a soft pout, her eyes worn and tired, it was impossible for Sam to resist. Then, for added measure, because Lena is never too tired to skip throwing in a wink -- she sealed the deal with a suggestion, and that's all it took.

"You owe me for this," Sam had said, only half kidding.

"Don't I know it," Lena had responded, a lingering touch to Sam's shoulder. "Thank you."

In a way, she supposes it all worked out, otherwise it would be Lena and Andrea conspiring in the corner, and Sam isn't sure she has the stomach to think about all _that_.

She turns her attention away from the center of the room and flags down a server with a nod of her head. She grabs a champagne flute and takes a long, slow sip.

The bubbles dance down her throat, traveling smoothly, but without the good burn of whiskey. The second sip is just as easy, and just as unfulfilling, but hey, at least it’s something.

"You won't regret it," Sam hears a voice behind her say, a bit too stern to be considered friendly.

“I appreciate the invite, but maybe some other time,” Andrea replies, shrugging. Sam takes another sip of her drink, trying to look casual as she stares at the ceiling. Definitely _not_ eavesdropping on the conversation. Definitely _not_ interested in anything to do with Andrea and her social circle.

“That’s what you said last time,” the guy standing closest to Andrea replies. Sam notices out of the corner of her eye the way he’s standing closer, angling enough to cut them off from the rest of the crowd. “Now’s as good a time as ever.”

“Relax, Roger,” Andrea says, almost impatiently now, her eyes narrowing. “We have the whole weekend.”

Sam tries to focus her attention somewhere-- literally _anywhere_ else -- but she can’t seem to shake the nagging feeling on her conscience. On one hand, she doesn’t know anything about Andrea, and maybe this is her idea of a good time. On the other, a more visceral pull is telling her that she should probably not ignore the situation.

“Why wait?” She hears Roger say, and Sam closes her eyes, trying to will the problem away.

A few more rounds of back and forth with Andrea clearly deflecting, and Roger clearly missing the meaning of the word no, and Sam is at her wit’s end.

“Dammit!” she whispers to herself, swallowing the rest of her champagne and placing the glass down firmly. With a click of her tongue, she squares her shoulders and turns, walking in Andrea’s direction.

 _I’m going to regret this_ , she thinks, but before she can talk herself out of it, she’s already standing in front of them.

“Andrea?” Sam hears herself say, interjecting herself into the conversation. She looks directly at the source of Andrea’s frustration -- Roger, apparently -- and then back at Andrea. “I thought that was you. I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

“Sam,” Andrea breathes, nodding with an uncomprehending smile. She sort of shakes her head slowly, and Sam’s eyes widen, trying to will the message across. _Please don’t make me explain that I’m doing you a favor._ “How are you?”

“Great,” Sam nods, shrugging. She turns to Roger. “Hey bud, can I steal her for a sec? Need to talk business, you know how it is.”

“We weren’t finished--” Roger argues, but Sam waves her hand.

“This is literally my party,” Sam grins, pointing at the L-Corp logo plastered along the walls. Roger swallows heavily, before stepping back with a huff. “Good man. Catch ya later.”

Andrea pauses with a frown, before following at Sam’s elbow. Sam flags down another server and grabs two flutes. She hands one to Andrea.

“Cheers,” she offers, raising her glass slightly. Andrea merely watches as Sam takes a sip of her champagne, not waiting for her to acknowledge the offering. They stand in awkward silence.

“I hope you aren’t expecting a thank you,” Andrea finally breaks, and Sam immediately regrets literally everything about this night. “I had it under control.”

“Sure,” Sam says, shrugging. “Sorry then, didn’t mean to interrupt. You can go back to what you were doing. Looked like...fun.” She waves her off, hoping she actually takes the opportunity to disappear.

But of course, she doesn’t. Instead, Andrea rolls her eyes, before finally taking a sip of her drink. She grimaces as she swallows, staring hard at the glass as if it offended her on purpose.

“This is horrid. You’d think Lena would spring for something...decent.” She eyes Sam again, and with a sparkle in her eye, she adds, “although I guess not when she sends her replacements.”

Sam smirks at the unnecessary jab. She knows that’s just how they work, if you can call it “working”. Andrea deflects and hides behind insults, because that’s the only way she can function. And Sam keeps her distance, tallying up the barbs and comments, using them to feed her grudge. A grudge which exists purely for Lena’s benefit, honestly. Lena may have forgiven whatever went on with them in the past, but Sam doesn’t have to, and she _relishes_ it.

“Are you always this charming, or is this a special occasion?” Sam asks, and she smiles, even though she knows Andrea can sense the sarcasm.

“Present company just tends to bring it out of me,” Andrea acknowledges.

“Well then--”

“Please stop talking,” Andrea holds up her hand. “You got me out of one painful conversation, don’t start another.”

Sam shakes her head, whistling under her breath. What a piece of work.

Andrea turns away, pretending to be focused on something across the room, because it’s easier than trying to duel with Sam Arias. But she’s unsuccessful at distracting herself. Instead, she watches the insufferable woman out of the corner of her eye. Sam’s standing there, smug as all hell, sipping her drink like she owns the place, like Andrea _owes_ her something, and it’s obnoxious. In fact, it’s nearly the most obnoxious thing Andrea has ever seen, and she’s in the tech industry, for fuck’s sake. It’s just so annoying that someone like Sam can stand there, all confidence and bravado for no reason, without anything to really show for it.

There’s something about her that’s just so _irritating_. It’s like nothing _really_ bothers her, even when it should. She’s just always so casual, so light and easy, and she always knows what to say, even when no one asks. Andrea scoffs under her breath, finishing her drink with a flourish.

She slams her glass down and glares. Sam Arias might be the most annoying person she’s ever met, and that’s saying something. After all, she knows Lex Luthor, personally.

The most irritating part is she almost _gets it_ , if she allows herself to think about it. She gets why Lena keeps her around, gets why someone like Sam would be a perfect balance for Lena’s personality. She’s more than just a loyal person, she’s strong and capable on her own, and doesn’t take any shit. Of course Lena chose Sam. Andrea would choose Sam, too, if that was an option. And it strikes her suddenly that really, that’s what this is all about. She’s jealous of Sam’s closeness with Lena, and she resents the fact that Lena clearly sees something in her that she never saw in Andrea. But the fact that Andrea can’t necessarily find fault in any of that logic, and in some part, agrees with it? Well, that’s just unacceptable.

Besides, what could that possibly _mean?_

“That guy is looking over here again,” Sam says quietly, turning to Andrea with a serious face. Andrea forces herself out of her silent tirade and pushes all those conflicting emotions down, way down, to the depths where they belong. “I’ll leave you alone, but just so you’re aware, he’s keeping tabs.”

Andrea doesn’t move her head, but glances to the side and realizes Sam is telling the truth. She doesn’t know why she’s being so protective, or nice, or whatever it is, but she doesn’t really want to argue about it right now.

Sam makes as if to leave, stepping around Andrea carefully. Before she can really think about it, Andrea reaches out a hand.

“Don’t,” she says sternly, her hand resting on Sam’s forearm. Her skin is warm, her sleeves rolled up to the elbow, exposing lines of muscle that Andrea didn’t completely expect. Sam flexes unconsciously and Andrea looks down at where they’re touching.

“Don’t?” Sam asks, her dumb face frowning in confusion. She pauses, stepping back a bit to where she was just standing.

“Don’t leave,” Andrea spits, the words feeling like fire coming from her mouth. She doesn’t _beg_ , and this is getting awfully close to that. Their eyes meet, and Andrea pulls her hand back. “Do I have to spell it out for you?”

Sam shakes her head as she swallows heavily.

Andrea catches the way Roger stares in her direction, unabashedly, as if just waiting to pounce. Fucking Roger. Sleezebag from Lord Technologies and grade A pain in her ass. How he always gets an invite to these things is beyond her. She’ll have to chat with Lena about the guest list when this is all over.

“Don’t you have like…minions…who come to these things with you?” Sam asks, frowning. She doesn’t understand how someone as powerful as Andrea would just be waltzing around the party without people ready to intervene on her behalf. Even Lena, who tries to keep a low profile, has assistants and bodyguards stationed around every corner. Come to think of it, that’s something Sam is severely _lacking_ , and really would have been helpful to have in an instance such as this.

Andrea sneers at that. “Unlike some business leaders, I don’t force my staff to do my bidding.”

Still, she glances around the room with a troubled frown.

“Lena didn’t force me to come,” Sam sort of lies. “I offered.”

“Of course you did,” Andrea grins, and it takes everything in Sam’s power not to smack her across the face.

Andrea looks at her watch as she shifts from side to side. “Speaking of Lena, be sure to thank her for me. She insisted I give a speech tonight before dinner, as if I don’t have anything better to do than put on a show for these people.”

“I’m sure you’ll be just fine with the attention,” Sam shrugs her off, glancing around for another server to give her another unsatisfying flute of champagne. She realizes the staff is busy clearing away dishes and shuffling people around, so she assumes the cocktail party is ending. That, in it’s own way, is a blessing.

“Ms. Rojas! There you are!” a hurried voice whispers excitedly next to them. A mousy looking girl who can’t be more than 20 rushes to Andrea’s side. “They’re almost ready for you!”

“Finally,” Andrea breathes, exasperated, her smug mask back in place where it belongs. Sam watches as she straightens the lines in her dress, not missing the opportunity to toss a casual smirk in Sam’s direction. “Enjoy the rest of your night, Ms. Arias.”

Andrea allows herself to be led from the room, and Sam merely watches as the irritation stirs in her chest. She doesn’t respond to the condescending wishes for a good night, because why should she? She goes out of her way to do Andrea a favor -- a woman that, for all intents and purposes, she doesn’t even _like_ \-- and all she gets is berated for it. It’s true, no good deed goes unpunished, but man, this takes the cake. She shakes her head, mentally noting down the choice words she’s going to have for Lena when she returns, as she practically runs toward the hotel bar.

\---

An hour or so later, Sam notices the central bar in the hotel becoming more crowded than before. She assumes either most people left dinner early, or skipped it entirely. She wonders about Andrea’s speech, and gets a small beat of satisfaction at the idea that she had to be uncomfortable for at least a little while longer after Sam’s departure. With her suit jacket hanging off the back of her chair, and her tie untied around her neck, she finally feels a little more relaxed than earlier. Almost enough to forget about Andrea entirely.

Almost.

She takes a final sip of her whiskey, and slams it down with enthusiasm. The bartender nods in her direction as she raises a finger for another.

The empty chair next to her creaks as it gets pulled from its place, and a woman glides carefully in next to her.

“Oh you’ve got to be kidding,” she hears the woman mutter, and without turning to acknowledge the voice, Sam already knows who it is.

“Starting to feel like you’re stalking me,” Sam mumbles, and she’s able to joke because she’s got an hour head start on drinking the good stuff. The bartender places a fresh drink in front of her at that precise moment, and she swears she could kiss the woman behind the counter.

Andrea points at the drink and motions for one for herself.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Andrea hisses, rolling her eyes. “Everyone knows this is the closest place with something decent. It’s not like L-Corp provided anything of substance.”

“She does that on purpose, you know,” Sam points out, deciding suddenly that she has to defend Lena’s actions like some type of gallant white knight. “She knows all of these people, she knows how they get when they drink. She doesn’t want any of that on her dime or her watch. Once it’s no longer L-Corp sponsored, they’re free to make fools of themselves and grope and grind their way through the weekend. But not a minute before.”

Andrea chuckles, shaking her head. “Well, she’s certainly got you spouting the company line, doesn’t she? Typical Lena,” she muses, and it drives Sam crazy that Andrea _knows_ that. “Well I suppose it’s all for the best.”

“Mm,” Sam nods, focusing on her drink.

“I see you’ve wasted no time,” Andrea continues to dig, nodding in Sam’s direction. Her eyes grate over her and linger a second too long. “Comfortable?”

Sam’s cheeks burn under her stare, but instead of letting it bother her, she simply shrugs it off. “I’m off the clock, I have no one I need to impress,” Sam replies, smiling too wide for it to be friendly. When she says no one, she means it with every fiber of her being. Andrea is not someone she feels the need to impress, not here, not ever. “But I guess I can’t say the same for you. Nice dress. Hot date later?”

“It’s a different city, on an entirely different continent. I’m allowed to have a little fun,” Andrea’s lips curl into a sneer as she sizes Sam up. She pulls out her phone and scrolls through her notifications.

“And yet, here you are, having a drink with me,” Sam fires back, raising her glass in salute. Andrea ignores her.

“Are you on tinder?” Sam teases. She’s not sure why, it’s not like they’re friends, but it seems too good an opportunity to let pass.

Andrea looks back at her, mouth gaping, appalled at the suggestion.

“Hinge?”

“Stop it.”

“The League?” Sam leans closer. Andrea shields her screen and doesn’t respond. “Ha, I knew it.”

“You’re embarrassing yourself.”

The bartender returns at that precise moment with Andrea’s drink.

“Thanks, Carol. Perfect timing,” Sam acknowledges, since Andrea doesn’t even bother. The bartender blushes and smiles.

“You know her name?” Andrea asks incredulously. “You’re one of _those_ , aren’t you?”

“One of those what? _Nice_ people?” Sam twists her lips, because honestly, what the fuck is Andrea even talking about? “It’s literally on her name tag,” Sam gestures, and Andrea’s face falls at that, just a little. It’s enough for Sam to feel smug for a second. But only for a second, because the next thing she knows, Andrea’s phone is buzzing. She doesn’t mean to pry, but she catches the name on the screen and her entire body freezes.

Andrea smirks as she checks it, catching Sam’s eye as she does.

“Just your _boss_ ,” Andrea emphasizes dramatically, a strong reminder of their current reality. Sam and Lena aren’t together in any other way besides business, and Andrea and Lena are on cordial speaking terms again outside of work, and the whole thing is stupid. Sam bites her tongue. She watches the way Andrea taps back enthusiastically, and it makes her stomach churn. “I’ll tell her you say hi.”

Sam seethes as she watches Andrea one up her. She takes a large gulp of her drink, not even flinching as it goes down.

Fine, if that’s how she wants to play it, then Sam isn’t going to go down without a fight.

But first…

“Carol!” Sam calls out, and the bartender looks in her direction. “I think we need some shots!”

\---

“Another round?” Sam suggests, since the first two seem to be finally kicking in. Her face feels warm, her body loose, her mind almost okay with the fact that she’s hanging out with Andrea Rojas.

“This isn’t a frat party,” Andrea says, her nose crinkling in disgust. Sam takes that as agreement, since Andrea never fucking says what she means, and signals for another round anyway.

“Oh god,” Andrea says, her smile wicked, her hand somehow touching the upper part of Sam’s arm. It isn’t clear how long it’s been there, or why her fingers are tracing along the fabric of her shirt, but Sam stays stock still anyway. Before she even continues, Sam knows it isn’t going to be a compliment. “Please tell me you aren’t into all that outdoorsy shit. You know-- beer and fishing--,” Sam nods along, confused, before Andrea scowls. “Camping?”

“Not sure what that has to do with anything, or frat parties, but yeah, sure, I appreciate nature and a good time,” Sam shrugs, chuckling, simply because she doesn’t know how else to respond to that. Andrea looks completely put off at the mere suggestion of the idea, and it would be really funny if it didn’t remind her of the shell-shocked way Lena looked the first time Sam mentioned her favorite campsite on Lake Onondaga.

“Lemme see what else I can guess about you,” Andrea says, leaning in closer, her breath warm and tangy with alcohol. Her eyes don’t focus fully on Sam, which is probably a good thing. If they could, Sam isn’t sure she’d want to be caught in their crosshairs. “You do your own woodwork? Fix your own car? Not afraid to get messy?”

Sam swallows heavily. It feels different, somehow, the way Andrea’s eyes are charged with something beyond hostility, and the way she seems keen on reading everything about Sam’s personality.

“I get things done,” Sam says, slowly, guarded. Pivoting, she meets her halfway, leaning into her space and nudging her drink. “And how about you, Andrea? What are you known for? Besides being an indoor girl?”

“Ha,” Andrea tosses her head back at that. Before she can elaborate, the shots are placed in front of them. Sam takes hers quickly, without giving Andrea a chance to argue. She follows a second later, grimacing as she swallows.

“I’m almost impressed,” Sam muses, as Andrea stares back at her in triumph, eyebrows pointing skyward. Her eyes are just starting to get glossy, her cheeks warm and pink. “You keep up pretty well.”

“I make my own whiskey,” Andrea retorts, rolling her eyes. “Bet you didn’t expect that.”

“Can’t say I did,” Sam agrees, and it’s weird to think that Andrea can do more than just hurl bitchy insults in a designer dress.

“Who do you think taught Lena how to drink? She couldn’t hold her liquor for shit before she met me.”

“I guess you could be proud of that,” Sam shrugs, still refusing to be baited. She hates the way Lena’s name rolls off Andrea’s tongue, the casual way the L lingers too long, like Andrea sort of _possesses_ it. She doesn’t want to get into a “who knows Lena better” battle tonight, but that’s always where they inevitably end up.

“You never talk about her, really,” Andrea challenges, her eyes narrowing. She leans on her hand, her elbow propped against the bar. Her finger teases the stirring straw in her half-empty drink as she talks and it’s terribly distracting. She’s the most casual Sam has ever seen her, and for some reason, it’s unnerving. “Why is that?”

“I don’t see why I would,” Sam replies lazily, turning to face Andrea a bit, mostly to assert herself. “Not to you, anyway.”

“And how is it, being so noble?” Andrea practically scoffs in her face. Sam hates the way she has to tilt her chin just to make eye contact. “Aren’t you bored? It’s so boring.”

“You don’t have to stay,” Sam says, and she means it. It’s not like she’s having a particularly great time here. “Nothing is keeping you here. I thought you were trying to get laid tonight--”

“You’re _impossible_ ,” Andrea interrupts, clearly exasperated.

“I don’t--”

“--It’s just, like, God, I don’t know--” Andrea gestures grandly, her words on the edge of slurring, but not quite. “You’re infuriating! Just say you won and move on with it!”

“Won _what?_ ”

“You fucking know what! Stop being so fucking modest!”

Sam puts down her drink carefully. The alcohol buzzes warmly through her veins, her body feeling electric and just on the edge of control. In a sober state, she would craft her reply delicately, dancing around the words she knows better than to say. But tonight, with her guard down, and her inhibitions even more so, she smiles.

“You know what, Andrea? You’re right,” Sam agrees, facing her. She crosses her legs and places her hands on Andrea’s knees. “If that’s how you want to see it, then yes. I did win. I beat you. I beat you fair and square and it wasn’t even a contest. Lena left you all on her own, and later, she chose me, and we had a fucking fantastic time about it. We traveled to more places than I can even count and spent more money than I can ever comprehend, all the while not ever once discussing you. Oh! And the sex--” Sam kisses the tips of her fingers with an emphatic ‘pop’-- “How could I forget? The sex was _spectacular_.”

Andrea bristles at the intensity, but Sam continues, knowing full well she’s got her on the ropes. “So if that’s what you need to hear, Andrea, then great. There it is. I know it, you know it, hell, I’m sure even Lena knows it. But there’s a reason we’re both here now, at a hotel bar in who-knows-where Beijing, single and alone, aright? I had one victory, but now you’re back in Lena’s good graces, so I’d say we’re even. The past is the past, and you’re just going to have to get over it.”

Sam feels the way her chest burns with a rage that she can barely contain, and frankly, it feels _great_. She has zero desire to attempt to rein it in, not when all _that_ has been aired out in front of them. If her happy buzz has to be trampled by a rich snob in stilettos, then there is going to be hell to pay. Pulling away, she swivels her chair back to her drink and ignores the heated stare radiating from next to her.

“There, was that so fucking hard?” Andrea huffs, scowling back into her own drink as she swirls the ice cubes around the bottom.

Truth be told, she didn’t expect Sam to be so _blunt_ , and she can’t decide if she’s more impressed or pissed off by it. Her brain feels muddled at this point, too heavy to make a clear distinction between her emotions, which is just as well. Sam continues to sit calmly next to her, her shoulders relaxed, like she didn’t just run Andrea over with her words. And honestly, how _dare_ she? The image of Lena with Sam has always been something she’s actively avoided, but now that it’s branded in her mind, she feels on the verge of frenzy. It isn’t like she didn’t _know_ of their history, but hearing it said out loud has caused a new type of tension to start building beneath the surface. She lets out a long exhale, trying to keep her composure as best as she can.

She asked for it, and she knows she did, but fuck, did Sam really have to _go_ there?

The silence pulses between them, but now that they’ve started, Sam feels like a runaway train, without a single way to stop.

“And another thing,” Sam says, turning back toward Andrea and pointing directly at her face. “It wouldn’t have killed you to say thank you earlier. That guy was a real prick, but you’re no picnic, and I didn’t have to help you. It’s not my job.”

She clenches her jaw, more in an effort to keep from spouting off than anything else. Andrea continues to eye her, like she’s appraising at an auction, her mouth twisted in a wry smile. Sam feels like she’s on fire.

“Gotta say, I didn’t think you had it in you,” Andrea finally breathes, nodding as she takes another sip. She purses her lips as she swallows before she finishes. “And you’re right, that guy is a prick.”

It’s still not a thank you, not even really an acknowledgement, and Sam has every urge to just toss down some money for the drinks and bail _but_ \--

“As long as we’re being honest,” Andrea continues, not making eye contact. “For what it’s worth, I get it. I do. I see the appeal. If I were desperate, I mean. Like, it definitely makes sense.”

“What are you even fucking talking about?” Sam’s head is swimming, and this entire conversation is exhausting.

“You,” Andrea shrugs, as if it’s obvious. She keeps her eyes trained on her drink. “I understand why Lena went for you.”

“Ok,” Sam says, shell-shocked. “Thanks, I think?”

Andrea holds up her hand, her gaze slowly rolling back to Sam in that hostile, and somehow amused way she has. “Relax, it’s not a huge compliment. Lena just has a way of attracting a certain...type.”

“Oh _does_ she? And what type would that be?” Sam replies, not really wanting to hear the explanation, but at the same time _desperate_ for it. She hopes it’s as awful as she thinks, so she can be justified in losing her shit and tossing the rest of her drink all over Andrea’s expensive ass dress. She almost doesn’t hear her answer, the image of a shocked and horrified Andrea a little too tempting…

“--Safe,” Andrea says, the word awkwardly soft on her lips. Sam snaps her mouth shut. “What did you think I was going to say?”

“Honestly--,” Sam ponders, trying to think of all the synonyms for ‘loser’ that she can think of, but her mind is turning up blank. “Not that.”

“Yeah well,” Andrea twists her lips into an almost genuine smile. “I’m just saying, I get it, okay? I’m not stupid.”

“Never said you were,” Sam cocks her head to the side, not sure if they’re arguing or agreeing, which is how she feels during _every_ conversation with Andrea Rojas. She bites her lip, wondering if she should even try to dance around her next thought, but to hell with it.

“For what it’s worth, I think you’re the opposite. You know exactly what you’re doing. You’re calculated and deliberate. And this--,” Sam points over her, her hand swerving to truly capture all of _this_ , “is not who you really are.”

Andrea crosses her arms and leans back in her chair, a surprised, smug smile teasing the corner of her lips. “And just who am I, Sam?”

“You’re not as mean as you think you are,” Sam replies, the liquid confidence warming her chest, as her lips tell a story all on their own. “You can’t be, or Lena would never even bother with you.”

“Interesting,” Andrea croons, leaning forward just a bit, the opening down the front of her dress becoming just a little bit more obvious. Sam avoids staring at it, looking just over Andrea’s shoulder instead. “Tell me more.”

Sam studies her in doses, wondering in what ways this could be a trick. But instead of dwelling, she decides to go for it.

“You’re nice, when you want to be. You’re fair, and thoughtful, sometimes. I mean, not to _me,_ but I know you’re capable of it. You just don’t want anyone to know that, for whatever reason. So yeah, I get it, too. That version of you would be worthwhile to know.”

Andrea shakes her head, her eyes drawn to the ceiling for a long moment. She closes them softly, her lips forming a smile. When she brings her gaze back to Sam’s, there’s something different there that wasn’t there before.

“There’s a reason we keep ending up at these fucking events together, don’t you think? This is, what, the third one this year alone?”

“Something like that.” Sam tries to do the calculations in her head, but the numbers get lost in a sea of alcohol and resentment.

“Mm,” Andrea nods, thoughtfully. She leans in close again, closing the gap almost completely, her lips inches from Sam’s ear. Her finger hooks under Sam’s chin, and she wants to resist, but she isn’t sure she can. “And we keep ending up in these strange predicaments, don’t we?”

Sam swallows heavily, unsure of what Andrea is implying. She clears her throat and tries to smile. “I guess?”

Andrea nods, smiling devilishly like a cheshire cat. She places her lips directly on Sam’s ear and breathes slowly. Sam feels the warmth directly on her skin, in the one place she really can’t _contain_ it, and fuck. That’s not even fair. The goosebumps go up and down her arms, betraying her just enough to be obnoxious. She clenches her teeth so hard, she’s convinced her jaw is going to crack.

Andrea’s tongue swirls delicately around the outside of her ear as she whispers, slowly, “It doesn’t mean you know a goddamn thing about me, are we clear?”

It sends a deep shiver down Sam’s spine, for reasons beyond the simple proximity of her lips. Andrea pulls away, a ‘dare me’ smirk plastered on her face. Sam doesn’t answer, because holy fuck, what was _that_ all about?

She blinks several times in order to steady herself, unsure if that entire situation was imagined, or if Andrea actually just _did_ that. Sam runs a finger over her lips, which are now inexplicably tingling.

It’s time to get the fuck out of here.

The dragging of a chair across the floor shakes her out of whatever world she’s lost in and she takes a moment to look around. The bar is practically deserted, with only a few stragglers left behind. It’s the first time in several hours that she’s noticed anything other than what’s been going on across from her. The revelation is startling.

Andrea seems to notice it, too. She shifts in her seat as she comes back to reality, pulling out her purse and fishing for her wallet. Sam places a hand on her forearm and shakes her head.

“Tab’s already open,” Sam mumbles, shrugging.

Andrea nods once, pursing her lips. Sam resists the urge to roll her eyes, convinced that getting Andrea Rojas to say thank you might just cause her to combust.

\---

The walk to the elevator is...odd, to say the least. Sam feels different, somehow -- shaken, almost, but not necessarily in a _bad_ way. Just surprising. She wishes she could say it’s from the alcohol, but that’s absolutely not it. She can still feel Andrea’s mouth on her ear, and she shivers involuntarily.

Andrea is walking close by, her gait slightly slower than normal. Despite that, her practiced grace is still on full display. She doesn’t wobble, doesn’t show any signs of inebriation, but Sam keeps a steadying hand inches from the small of her back just in case. It’s true, she would get kind of a sick, twisted pleasure if Andrea were to trip and fall flat on her face, but the kinder, more chivalrous voice in her head seems to be in charge of guiding her actions.

At least for now. If Andrea starts talking again, all bets are off.

It’s unnerving how this version of Andrea reminds her of Lena, a little. The way she’s practiced, and guarded, and so very rehearsed. Lena isn’t as...difficult, but she’s got snappy one liners to compete with the best of them. Andrea has more of a mean streak, but Sam thinks there’s a story there. It’s one she probably won’t ever understand, but she can’t say she blames her. This business is rotten work, and if she’s running in the same circles as Lena, this type of thorny behavior is an expected default.

Andrea is not _growing_ on her, let’s be clear. But she’s not _that bad_. At least she’s fun to look at, Sam concedes. Which, really, at the end of the day, is the only thing that has kept her even trying. She tries to sneak a quick look, as if it will solidify this concept. She manages to catch a glimpse of those overly pouty lips, and the way Andrea’s hair falls in attractive waves down her neck. It frames her face at a perfect angle making her look soft, almost approachable. Her eyes are a bright, shocking blue -- but Sam avoids them at all costs, because she knows there will be heavy consequences if she gets pulled under.

Sam takes a steadying breath. Fun, indeed.

Andrea keeps feeling Sam’s curious stare out of the corner of her eye, but every time she chances a glance in that direction, Sam seems to be focused straight ahead. It’s probably all in her imagination, this weird tension between them, but it feels like something has shifted. Sam’s protective hand ghosting over her back sends a heat through to her core, and she isn’t sure why she’s allowing it to happen. She doesn’t _need_ her. But she also knows there’s something pulling at her, begging her to _take_ , and she’s not sure she has the willpower to resist.

The little display at the bar was just meant to be fun, a silly game she likes to play when she knows she can win. She doesn’t think Sam will come apart easily, but Andrea is definitely interested in finding the right buttons to push to see where it can go. She doesn’t know what the point is, or what she really wants out of the whole thing. But to hear the hitch in Sam’s breath, and feel the heat between them when Andrea leaned in close, well, that was worth it.

The elevator doors open, and a small crowd tumbles out. A larger man exits, clearly not paying attention, his head turned away from them as he talks while looking back at his group. He takes a step and barrels directly into Andrea, the momentum throwing her balance completely off center. She wobbles slightly, her alcohol addled brain too slow to pick up on the shift. Before she is sent sprawling, a pair of strong, solid arms reach around her torso, pulling her sideways and out of harm’s way.

“Hey there, guy,” Sam calls out, scowling at the idiot in front of them. “Eyes up.”

“Woah, sorry,” the man mumbles, holding up his hands. “Didn’t see you.”

“You okay?” Sam asks, turning toward Andrea. Her eyebrows are crinkled in worry, and Andrea doesn’t actually think to respond right away. Instead, she’s distracted by the way Sam’s heartbeat felt against her back, pounding and strong, as she pulled Andrea’s body in close. Her arms are still wrapped around her, flexed fully, as if she’s afraid to let go. She wants to say something snarky, and probably mean, but the words don’t seem to formulate properly. Instead, she just stares back dumbly, her mouth stubbornly not cooperating.

Sam’s head tilts in confusion, and Andrea realizes she’s waiting for an answer.

“I’m good,” she finally whispers.

It’s weak, and it’s soft, but she can’t seem to remember how to _function_ all of a sudden, and God, that’s so annoying. The other thing that’s really annoying is how she never noticed the deep richness to Sam’s eyes or the way they seem to focus _through_ her, exposing everything she keeps hidden. Andrea clears her throat, more to try to find her voice than anything else, but the sound causes Sam to loosen her grip slightly.

“S--Sorry,” Sam mutters, releasing Andrea fully with steadying hands. “Just didn’t want you to fall.”

“Asshole,” Andrea turns and glares after the crowd of people, the man’s hearty laughter echoing down the hallway. “Not you,” she clarifies, turning to Sam.

Sam chuckles at that, a light, throaty sound that for some reason makes Andrea smile.

“What’s funny?”

“You,” Sam says, shaking her head. “You’re just-- I don’t know. You’re funny.”

“Keep it together, Arias,” Andrea says, but there’s a warmth inside her that she’s not particularly complaining about.

Sam allows her to get on the elevator first, and they push the buttons to their separate floors. Sam seems focused on the ceiling, her weight shifting from side to side like she’s nervous. Andrea notices the lean lines of her neck, and the way the top two buttons of her shirt are open, revealing tan, smooth looking skin. Her tie hangs undone around her neck, her suit jacket casually back on and left open. Sam has no business being attractive, on top of everything, but of fucking _course_ she is. Her lips are full and soft, and Andrea _hates_ that she notices them. She hates the entire thing, really, but mostly she hates how she can’t help but wonder what it would feel like to have Sam’s fingernails rake down her back. Or how it would feel to peel those layers of clothing off her skin, and to run her tongue over the lean lines of muscle she can see pulled taut along her arms. It causes her stomach to flip, and before she can stop herself from staring, Sam catches her eye.

She doesn’t speak, she simply looks. Andrea matches her stare evenly, feeling the way her chest rises and falls with anticipation. A silent challenge passes between them. It’s suddenly ten thousand degrees in the tiny elevator compartment, and she knows Sam feels it, too. She also knows Sam won’t invade her space, won’t come unless invited, so it’s all on Andrea if she _wants_ this.

The elevator chimes and Andrea steps out. Sam stands back, her head tilted in a silent ask. Andrea has a split second to decide, but really, her mind was probably made up the moment she sat down at the bar. It wasn’t like that was the only seat available. She had other options, she had other notifications on her phone. She wasn’t trying to find Sam, necessarily, but she wasn’t avoiding her, either.

She sticks her foot out to block the door from closing.

“Well?” she says, trying to look impatient and completely put out. That’s the only type of invitation Sam is going to get. She isn’t going to fully ask, and she isn’t going to plead her case.

Sam hesitates, before a determined smirk appears at the corner of her mouth. She gracefully pushes herself from the back of the elevator and exits next to her. Andrea feels a surge of adrenaline course through her veins.

\---

This is _wrong_ on so many levels, Sam thinks, as she does nothing to stop herself from entering Andrea’s suite. But she can’t fully articulate why. It’s just-- it’s _Andrea,_ and they don’t even really like each other. But it’s something more than that. Something she’ll probably spend a hell of a lot of time detangling later.

Right now, she’s too far gone.

They aren’t here for a night cap, they aren’t going to sit and gossip. There’s an unspoken agreement that passed between them in the last five seconds that means only one kind of transaction is going to occur tonight: the messy, heated, tension-overflowing kind that ends in sweaty, and hopefully satisfying, exhaustion.

Of all the places she thought she’d be, and all the people she thought she’d see, this particular situation never really occurred to her. But now that she’s here, well, Andrea owes her that much.

The door to the room barely closes behind them before Andrea turns, walking Sam back against it. Her eyes are hooded and dark, her lips curling in a satisfied smirk as Sam bumps up to the firm barrier.

“I have two rules,” she says, her voice husky and low. She grabs Sam’s tie with a tug and waits. Apparently, they’re getting right down to it, which is somewhat of a relief. Sam feels the way Andrea’s leg is pushed between her own, and the way her hip grinds into hers ever so forcefully, enough to cause a jolt deep in Sam’s core. Every other thought disappears, dissolving into nothing but a throbbing, aching, need. Andrea’s face is dangerously close, her chest pressed fully against Sam’s own. She seems to enjoy being in control, and Sam feels herself rev like an engine.

She’ll allow this brief moment before she turns the tables.

“One, no unnecessary conversation,” Andrea orders, her eyebrow jutting up in a painfully familiar way that Sam chooses to ignore. Her free hand, the one that isn’t grabbing on to her tie, runs freely along Sam’s shoulder, tracing lines down her chest and stopping over her heart. “And two,” Andrea removes her hand and holds up two fingers inches from Sam’s face, her lips ghosting along Sam’s jawline. “No sleepovers.”

Another tug on the tie. Sam flinches slightly, but it doesn’t hurt. If anything, it’s just the opposite. “Got it?”

“Mmhmm,” Sam mumbles, her heart racing at the pressure against her body that Andrea is causing. She tries to keep it together, refusing to let Andrea see her struggle. “That it?”

Andrea pulls back with an exasperated roll of her eyes, but before Sam can make another quip, she feels herself being pulled forward. Andrea tugs her tie forcefully, breaking the momentum with her lips.

The kiss is charged and intense, but Andrea’s lips feel softer and more wonderful than they have any business being. She gives in just the right places, and takes forcefully when Sam concedes. She feels Andrea’s tongue tease along her lips, searching desperately until Sam finally relents. Andrea pushes against her, harder this time, their bodies thumping against the door in chaotic intervals as Andrea’s tongue fills her mouth.

 _Fuck,_ is all Sam can think, because everything else feels like it’s short circuiting. It’s overwhelming, and rough, and intense all at once. It isn’t what she expects, but it’s what she _needs,_ and that’s all that she cares to focus on. Her hands work their way frantically up and down Andrea’s body, feeling every curve, grabbing at every inch. She pulls her in tightly, her fingers scratching down Andrea’s back, earning her a moan that she takes into her mouth.

When Andrea pauses for air, Sam takes the opportunity to pounce, her own tongue pushing into Andrea’s open, waiting mouth. She isn’t careful, or gentle, or calm -- she’s desperate, and wild. Her teeth graze over Andrea’s lips, and she bites hard with the intent to cause a reaction.

It’s different from any other time -- or any other partner. She feels unchained, and completely out of character, like she’s watching this from another perspective. With Lena, it was always _intense_ , but it was also loving, and gentle. Intimate. She wanted Lena to feel safe, to feel protected, to give her above and beyond everything possible. She can’t have that softness sneaking in now, so she pushes that image far from her mind.

Because this..is decidedly the opposite.

She wants to get Andrea off for the simple pleasure of what it will mean. She wants Andrea to sit in bed several weeks from now and think about the way Sam’s tongue felt in her mouth, the way her hands felt on her body. She wants that craving to drive her _crazy_.

As if on cue, Andrea whimpers, so low Sam can barely hear it, and it causes something in her to absolutely explode. She pulls back for a beat and pushes Andrea forward, switching their positions with overwhelming strength. It catches Andrea off guard enough that she simply follows, and with the momentum in her favor, Sam pushes Andrea’s back against the door, taking both her hands in her own and forcing them above her head.

Andrea tries to push back a little, but Sam is deceptively strong, and honestly, she doesn’t have the fight left in her. Not anymore. Sam is stupid hot, and Andrea is just drunk enough to almost admit out loud how bad she _wants_ her. She knows this isn’t anything but lust, and even that might be a stretch. But there’s still something about the way Sam takes charge, the way she frowns as she tries to catch her breath, that sends Andrea reeling. She wants Sam to take her, right against this door if she has to. She doesn’t want to wait, she wants to feel Sam all over her. She’ll take whatever Sam wants to give. She wants to ride her like a fucking horse.

It’s already a victory to be in this position, Andrea concedes, and she almost laughs at that. She wants the unattainable, and she’s proving that it’s possible. She’s going to take anything Sam gives her, and only give the bare minimum in return. She wants Sam to make her lose control, and in doing so, lose control herself.

Sam grins in triumph against Andrea’s lips, biting at them again with more force than necessary. Andrea hisses at the contact, the corners of her mouth still upturned in an amused smirk. Sam attacks again, kissing her into submission, feeling the way they both gasp for breath between desperate, heavy contact. Sam breaks away, exhaling fast, trailing heavy, hard kisses against Andrea’s jaw and down her neck, biting and nipping at the sensitive skin along her throat. She wants to mark her, brand her, absolutely and completely own her, for one glorious moment. Seeing the sensitive skin begin to redden from her teeth is better than any ‘thank you’ Andrea could have given her.

She notes the way Andrea tilts her head back to expose more runway for her mouth, her pulse throbbing furiously all down her neck. It’s funny, for how bossy and put together Andrea is, to see her writhing and taking everything Sam gives her. The vision is intoxicating, and Sam quickly takes advantage.

She doesn’t want it to be intimate, or slow, or careful. She wants to win. She wants to _fuck_. She doesn’t look in Andrea’s eyes as she drags her tongue down the exposed front of her dress, bending slightly to capture every inch in her mouth. Andrea exhales sharply, her hands still tangled with Sam’s as she squeezes them with each lap of Sam’s tongue, each bite of her teeth.

“Turn around,” Sam pants, her voice gruff and demanding. She wants leverage, wants to take her forcefully without looking into her eyes.

She expects resistance, but Andrea is quick to comply. She turns, facing the door, her hands pressed flat against it. Sam pushes roughly against her, her left hand scratching and running up Andrea’s leg, while her right works itself through her hair. Andrea tosses her head back and Sam yanks at the strands, enough to make her wince. At the same time, her left hand makes quick work of the soft skin up Andrea’s thigh, maneuvering expertly under the fabric of her dress. Her pulse races at the way Andrea’s legs spread slightly for her. Sam scratches at her inner thigh, her lips and tongue wet and hot against Andrea’s ear. She knows Andrea can hear every breath, feel every movement.

Sam slides her hand around Andrea’s hip and down the front, under the flimsy band of her thong -- the image of which causes Sam to bite her lip, momentarily picturing Andrea in _that_ \-- before her fingers reach their destination. Andrea moans softly as Sam teases at her entrance, debating whether to make her wait or just fuck her senseless. Her legs are spread further, and she’s sloppy wet and _wanting_ , and fuck, Sam has to bite into her shoulder just to keep from groaning. She decides to get on with it, because she’s had to endure _a lot_ tonight, and the delayed gratification is just not worthwhile. She wants fast and hot, and she wants Andrea to remember exactly how it feels.

She pushes two fingers firmly inside, with no warning, taking pleasure in the way Andrea gasps at the contact. Andrea bends forward slightly, bracing herself against the door, allowing Sam full access as she does. Sam shifts her positioning slightly, twisting her fingers upward in just a way to make Andrea groan, before she thrusts in smooth, confident intervals. She starts pounding into Andrea like she’s trying to make a point, and Andrea’s body is pliant and ready to receive each and every stroke.

“Fuck,” Andrea groans, and it only adds fuel to Sam’s fire. She feels the warmth of Andrea’s heat as she flexes against her hand. Sam curls her fingers upward, her thumb fixing on Andrea’s clit, rubbing in circles with as much control as she can manage.

Andrea feels her legs go to jelly as Sam’s hands work their magic. She’s fucking _powerful,_ and seems to be everywhere, an intoxicating combination of strength and finesse. Andrea’s body ignites at every stroke and every lick and every touch. She’s soaking wet, and Sam’s fingers are driving her into a frenzy. She doesn’t think about who it is ravaging her, she simply closes her eyes and loses herself to the feeling. The door rattles with each thump of their bodies. Sam’s breath comes out in grunts as she fucks Andrea repeatedly. It doesn’t take long before Andrea feels herself almost ready to give in. The build up is low in her belly, the tension a thick, tight coil ready to explode. Sam slows her pace like she can read everything Andrea’s body is telling her, and starts gently stroking at the perfect tempo.

 _Of course she has to be fantastic at this_ , Andrea thinks, before everything starts to blur.

She can feel Andrea tensing, the pressure building as they continue, but Sam decides to tease her, just a little. She pulls her hand back, and as she removes her fingers slowly, Andrea groans at the emptiness. She turns her head slightly, but Sam is already spinning her around, facing her forward again and pushing her against the door. Sam’s forearm pushes against her chest for leverage, her other hand quickly scratching up her legs. Before Andrea can utter a complaint, Sam pushes her legs back apart, her fingers forcing their way back inside her wet, hot center. She picks up the pace, and Andrea’s head rolls back as she moans at the sensation. Sam can tell she’s close to coming undone, and she continues to curl her fingers expertly, avoiding Andrea’s eyes until she can feel her breaths come in gasps and starts. Her legs quiver around Sam’s hand, and her entire body seems to tense and then release in one dramatic push.

She’s quiet, and doesn’t offer anything dramatic, but her body tells another story. Her muscles are tense, and for a quick second, Sam sneaks a look at her face. Her eyes are closed, her jaw clenched, hair wild and unkempt. _Fuck, that was a mistake_. Sam looks away quickly, the image already burned in her mind of Andrea Rojas blissed out against the door as she gets fucked into submission.

She comes fast and hard, and Sam eases her down, but only for a few seconds, before extracting her hand roughly and letting Andrea catch her breath alone. They’re standing close to each other, breathing in the same space, Andrea’s eyes still closed as Sam watches her with tense curiosity.

Eventually, Andrea’s heart rate slows to a more normal rhythm and she slowly opens her eyes, expecting to see Sam looking at her in that way she has -- cautious, but friendly. Instead, she’s met with an intense stare that’s almost lethal. Sam is charged and breathing heavily, and Andrea doesn’t immediately know what to do. She clears her throat, which breaks whatever weird ass spell has been captivating them for the past several hours, and Sam seems to come back to herself. She blinks several times, like she’s stowing away her energy as she eases back into something more recognizable. She backs away slowly, slipping her hands into her pockets as she allows Andrea enough space to peel herself from the door and straighten her dress.

She can’t believe Sam Arias just fucked her in a hotel room halfway across the world, but what’s worse, she can’t believe she actually _enjoyed_ it. Her head is still spinning with alcohol and adrenaline, but she knows this is something she’ll need to forget about. It can _never_ happen again. She isn’t going to get caught up in one of those arrangements that requires them to spend time together on purpose. No, that’s not what this is. This was a transaction, plain and simple.

Sam picks her jacket up off the floor, which must have been discarded in all the chaos. She throws it over her arm and nods in Andrea’s direction.

“So, uh...guess I’ll see you later,” she says, her voice still a little breathless as she heads for the door. Andrea is glad she doesn’t ask for anything in return. She doesn’t try to extend this...situation, doesn’t try to get Andrea to give. Not that Andrea isn’t into it. It’s quite the opposite. She’s afraid if they got started, she wouldn’t be able to stop. The memory of Sam’s hot, heavy breathing and the feeling of her fingers forcefully stretching inside her chooses that precise second to come to the forefront, and Andrea has to stop herself from gasping.

Unaware of Andrea’s dilemma, Sam simply squares her shoulders and stands in silence. Her hair is only slightly out of place, but for the most part, she looks polished and composed.

Smooth and easy Sam Arias. Andrea hates her even more than she did before.

Sam turns away, and she doesn’t expect Andrea to stop her, or really say anything, but just as she grabs the door handle, a hand touches her forearm.

“This won’t ever happen again,” Andrea warns sternly, her eyes narrowing like they’re in on some big scandal. Sam supposes that after this, they sort of are. “Do you understand?”

Classic Andrea, a stone cold bitch right to the very end. Sam grins.

“Understood,” she agrees, shaking her head. At least she knows Andrea’s embarrassed, enough that it won’t end up on CatCo’s homepage first thing in the morning. The headline wouldn’t tell the half of it, but at least Sam can sleep well tonight knowing she topped Obsidian Tech’s CEO.

“Good night, Andrea.”

With that, she lets the door slam behind her, leaving Andrea alone with her thoughts, which is exactly where Sam wants her to be.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sam and andrea deal separately with the aftermath of their shenanigans....and then they deal together. lena finds out what's going on, and in true luthor fashion, she takes it...well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> remember that time i wrote a thing and then a follow up thing?  
> this idea won't leave me alone SO HERE HAVE MORE
> 
> a little hint of rojascorp and reigncorp, as a treat

The elevator ride lasts for several years as Sam goes back up to her own room. The victory parade she was so sure was in her future turns out to be a let down, an event that is far too short-lived for her taste. The elevator doors close on all her good feelings, leaving her surrounded by a guilt she doesn’t want to address and a battle with her own desperate _longing_.

Fuck Andrea Rojas, honestly.

But that’s what got her into this entire mess, and just being mad at her causes her cheeks to flush and her pulse to quicken in ways that don’t entirely mean anger. She’d love to avoid thinking about the last few hours, but that’s proving to be impossible considering everything inside her body feels _volatile_. She’s burning, her insides white hot and electric. Her nerves are crackling, still refusing to come down from the overstimulated state Andrea seems to have put her in. All her mind can seem to do is flash over particular images: the way Andrea’s mouth hung open slightly as Sam pushed deeper inside, the way her neck bruised easy and satisfying under Sam’s mouth. 

Her ears fill with the sound of Andrea’s gasps and moans. Her lips are still sore and wet from Andrea’s teeth. 

It’s infuriating that it’s _Andrea_ who made her like this, but she tries not to dwell on that part too long. It could have been _anyone_. It’s been a minute since she’s hooked up with someone, so she’s sure any encounter would leave her feeling charged and pulsing. Right?

So _what_ if there’s something about Andrea specifically that has gotten under her skin, coursing through her veins and into her very _soul_ that makes this more intense than it has any business being? Who cares about Andrea’s insufferable smugness, and the way her lips form a pout anytime she says something snarky? And why should making Andrea come undone, pushing her to the limit, _beating_ her, fuel the fire to inextinguishable levels of intensity?

Sam doesn’t have the answer, but whatever it is, it’s wrong. It’s all so wrong. The feeling is too overwhelming, the situation too powerful. It’s a hornet’s nest, and Sam just couldn’t resist shaking the shit out of it.

The elevator dings, distracting her enough from her Andrea-fueled hate spiral to exit. She heads to her room where she can come undone in peace. 

The door barely closes behind her before she’s stripping away her clothes, tugging off her tie and loosening her belt, letting all the sin of the night drop away from her in an unceremonious puddle on the floor. She immediately heads for the shower, desperate to wash away any remaining evidence, lest she be investigated later, or something equally as ridiculous. It’s mental, at this point. She just wants a clean slate, to forget that this entire night ever happened. Despite the fact that her heart is still pounding like a jackhammer, and she’s slick between her thighs, she just wants to return to any semblance of normal. 

She wants to return to a time before Andrea Rojas was branded on her skin. 

The water is steaming hot, and for a few glorious minutes, it drowns out every thought, every feeling, every possible regret Sam could have. She stands under the stream of water and lets it dowse every inch of her body, pounding on her head and over her ears in such a way that she is completely submersed, her senses on mute. The bliss only lasts so long, a few seconds at most, before the water pounding on her skin feels like the caress of scratching fingernails, and the steam ghosting around her feels like lips teasing their way down her body. Her stomach is knotted with deep, tight coils, her center throbbing with a pulse all its own. She moves to disengage from the steady flow of water and hurries to finish. 

There’s no point in prolonging the inevitable. 

She’s still wet, her hair dripping in ringlets down her back, her skin red from the contrasting coolness of the room that she’s now suddenly standing in. She drapes her towel lazily over her body and lays down on the bed, feeling like a volcano about to erupt. The shower was the opposite of calming. In fact, all it seems to do is remind her how touch-starved she is, how badly she needs a release. It’s such a fucking shame that the touch she wants the most comes from someone who remains absolutely out of the question.

She’s livid that she’s still so _turned on_ and there’s only so much she can do about it. The hotness aggression rages on as she stares hard at the ceiling. Her biggest fear is if she doesn’t _handle_ this, she’ll have a sex dream about Andrea, and honestly, that’s something she _really_ doesn’t think she can deal with right now. 

Her hand runs down the length of her torso, down the smooth, damp skin of her stomach and between her thighs where her pulse is aching, pounding heavily and begging for release. She teases at her entrance, appalled at the fact that despite the shower, she’s still so wet and wanting. She closes her eyes and tries to relax, but the only thing she sees is Andrea, the small muscle in her jaw clenching, moving in time with each and every deliberate stroke of Sam’s hand. 

She rubs herself faster, her pulse racing, beads of sweat forming at the corner of her temples. Her breaths are ragged as she moves in constant rhythm, her only mission being to get this entire task over and done with so she can forget it ever happened. She backs off the pace slightly, giving herself a chance to recover, the waves of pleasure starting to build as she steadies herself. She thinks of the way Andrea felt all around her, her muscles flexing against her hand, her neck smooth and red from Sam’s teeth. Her finger teases at her clit as she rubs again, faster and faster, letting out a soft moan as she clenches the muscles in her legs. She’s finally so close to the edge, so close to completely letting go.

She pictures Andrea’s hands running up her thighs, the way her wicked smile would be if she could feel how desperately bad Sam’s body _wants_ her. She imagines her fingers pushing deep inside with no mercy, her tongue teasing at her clit, faster then slower, just the way she needs it.

It all comes in a rush after that, every muscle clenching before finally, finally, tumbling over the edge, cascading down, down, down like a waterfall. Sam rides it out on her hand, eventually slowing to a stop as she eases her way back to normal. 

She feels exhausted, and defeated, betrayed by her own mind for even _going there_. 

She lays there for several minutes, too spent to even contemplate moving, too filled with rage to form a coherent thought. It’s just as well. She’s committed enough acts of treason tonight. Getting off to the thought of Andrea Rojas and her wicked tongue is just another check in a column of boxes she hopes she never has to revisit.

Eventually, sleep threatens to overtake her, and she welcomes it with open arms. As her eyelids flutter closed, she holds on to the fact that this night contains a secret that no one has to know, and the idea gives her a little rush. 

_“It’s been so long,” a silky, deep voice says from the shadows. There’s a rustling of clothing, as footsteps echo softly somewhere nearby._

_Sam reaches into the darkness, grasping ivory hands in her own, feeling them tangle with her fingers as she tugs forward. A beautiful figure materializes in front of her, perfectly constructed as if sculpted from marble herself._

_Lena approaches her slowly. She’s dressed down, her hair loose and wavy, her silk robe falling off her shoulder, barely covering her body. It’s the way Sam loves her the most: unguarded, unmasked, when she isn’t trying to be something else._

_Her hands frame Sam’s face, and they’re cool and gentle, the way they’ve always been. Sam remembers the feeling as if it was just yesterday, even though it feels like a lifetime since she’s had this. She closes her eyes, and allows it to consume her, sighing into the gentle feeling of contentment. Lena slowly and deliberately straddles herself across Sam’s lap, her movements particular and sure. Her robe falls away, her body exposed and sinfully radiant. She smiles a coy smile that reaches her eyes, one of those rare ones that Sam knows doesn’t come around often._

_But when they do, God, they’re just incredibly perfect._

_“I’ve missed you,” Lena says breathlessly, her lips full, her eyelids fluttering. She doesn’t wait for Sam’s response, doesn’t ask permission, because she knows this is for her. She knows Sam would never deny her. She leans forward, their lips finally meeting, the kiss erupting with so much intensity Sam feels her heart flutter and drop, missing several beats in the process._

_The entire scene is so fucking heavy that Sam’s perspective shifts. It’s like she’s outside her own body, watching this performance like a spectator. She watches the way Lena’s hips grind into hers, the way her hands work their way feverishly through Sam’s hair. She watches Lena’s tongue slip out over her lips and into her own waiting mouth, and she hears-- and feels -- the way Lena moans just a bit into their embrace. She watches her own hands slide down Lena’s ribs, splaying out across her hips, her fingers reaching for exactly what Lena wants._

_Lena inhales sharply as Sam teases and touches at her wetness, smiling into their kiss as she feels the way Lena aches for her._

_“Fuck me,” Lena says, breathlessly, ready to completely come undone. “I need to feel you.”_

_Sam groans at that, pushing into her with enough force to make Lena gasp and fall forward into her arms. Her hips undulate at the perfect pace, allowing Sam enough access to go deeper, to feel every part of her as their lips share a secret all their own._

_It’s teetering on the verge of becoming something more: something explosive, something hotter than Sam can even handle, when she realizes it’s not at all what she thinks. Everything is distorted, somehow, and she realizes, despite her racing heart and the feeling between her legs, that this is definitely a dream._

_When she looks again, she’s behind herself, watching Lena’s eyes roll to the back of her head as she continues to fuck herself on Sam’s hand. Only it isn’t Sam anymore._

_Lena’s mouth grazes along the hillside of a smooth, perfectly sculpted neck, her teeth scratching along the surface at intervals that seem to be pleasing. The woman she’s straddling hisses in satisfaction and Sam’s stomach drops._

_“Andrea,” Lena croons, whispering, her tongue teasing upwards towards her ear, her breath heavy and slow. “I’m so close--”_

_“Come for me,” Andrea says, her voice low and commanding. “Show me how bad you want it.”_

_Sam’s chest feels heavy, her face flushed with anger. She wants to scream, to interrupt this entire...scene. She feels like if she has to keep watching she’s going to lose control and not in any way that would be satisfying._

_Andrea’s lips curl into a smug smile as her bright blue eyes focus on Lena’s face. Lena’s eyes are hooded and dark, staring at Andrea in that way she has that penetrates a soul, taking it to another realm entirely. Sam clenches her jaw, the jealousy roaring inside her completely untamed and wild. Andrea keeps a steady pace going as she fucks Lena over, and over, and over._

_Sam’s perspective has shifted again, and she’s standing behind Lena now, face to face with Andrea. Sam notices the way her blue eyes are dark and stormy, as she pulls her gaze from Lena in order to land directly on Sam. She stares her down wickedly as she fucks Lena, winking as she goes._

_Lena’s moans are guttural, her head rolling back in complete ecstasy. Sam shakes her head, screaming at herself to wake the fuck up before--_

An alarm jolts her out of her wretched nightmare and she sits up abruptly, her heart hammering in her chest. Her hands are balled into fists, grabbing at the sheets so tightly that she’s surprised she hasn’t ripped them to shreds. Her jaw aches from clenching so hard. She takes a few steady breaths as her fingers release from their death grip and move to push away the still-damp strands of hair off her forehead. 

Her head feels like it’s filled with cotton, and her mouth is dry from all the stupid alcohol she just _insisted_ on drinking. She turns over for a glass of water and sees a notification on her phone. 

A missed call from Lena. Of course. 

She throws herself back against the pillows and stares hard at the ceiling, her chest still heaving with rage.

 _Fuck_ Andrea Rojas. 

Xxx 

As soon as Sam leaves, Andrea feels like her mind snaps back into place. Like she took a mini-vacation for the past few hours, and now she’s back to reality and back to herself.

She surveys the metaphorical mess and finds herself at a loss, because God, what an unfortunate place to be left alone after all _that_.

She sits down on her bed, angrily staring into space, brooding over the fact that not only is she still hopelessly turned on, her thighs scratched and slick from Sam’s rough hands, but part of her wishes she could have found a way to get her to stay. Not like _that_ \-- not in a weepy, sappy, cuddly type way. Just to get her to stay longer, to take it further, to do...more. She didn’t expect it to be so good, she didn’t expect to want it so badly. But now that she’s had a taste of something forbidden, and entirely too delicious, she knows this isn’t going to be the last time. Even if she tells herself it can’t ever happen again. Even if she tells _Sam_ it can’t happen ever again.

The pulse between her legs throbs as she thinks of Sam’s smirk, the way she casually nodded when Andrea practically threatened her that this was a one time thing. It was like she _knew_ Andrea wouldn’t be able to resist her. That’s what makes Sam so fucking infuriating: her confidence is staggering without even trying. Not in an over the top way, either. It’s in subtle nuance, in her easy charm and the way she’s just so relaxed about everything. She didn’t get offended or try to belittle Andrea into admitting they’d be back at it soon. She simply agreed, and walked away with no more than a whisper. Who _does_ that? 

Andrea has no idea if any of this even affected Sam, and it’s driving her absolutely _wild._ She’s _Andrea Rojas_ for fuck’s sake. Sam should consider herself _lucky_. 

Who the fuck does Sam think she is? 

Andrea’s cheeks burn intensely with freshly brewed anger and a relentless _craving_ as she slides her underwear down her legs, discarding them on the floor with a flourish. Her dress is already hiked up around her hips, and her neck is still raw and aching from Sam’s teeth. She leans back against the pillows, her legs spreading slowly as her hand travels down the length of her stomach, testing and teasing herself as she goes. She gasps slightly at how wet she still feels, how wet _Sam_ made her feel, and she grits her teeth as her fingers push inside. She closes her eyes, picturing Sam, all hot and strong, flexing and fucking her against the door. She thinks of her face, all serious and _heated_ , wishing she could still feel Sam’s lips against her skin. Her fingers flex as she works herself faster, thinking about all the ways she wants Sam to make her come undone: with her hands, with her tongue, whatever way Andrea can get it, she _needs_ Sam to give it to her. She feels close to the edge, her pulse racing, but another thought enters her mind that throws her into a frenzy. 

With no warning at all, she pictures Lena, regal and serious, her lips pursed and eyes blazing, sitting in the corner with an amused eyebrow jutting skyward as she takes in the sight. The guilt stirs low in her belly, angrily churning as Andrea thinks about how Sam is so beyond off limits… but what if she didn’t have to be? What if this wouldn’t _hurt_ Lena as much as a way to bring them all closer? 

She knows it’s wrong no matter how you slice it, but she can’t help herself from thinking about Sam going down on her, her tongue fast and wet against her clit, and Lena in the corner, taking a sip of her scotch, eyes hard and piercing over the rim of her glass.

“Fuck her while you do that,” Lena instructs, eyes narrowing, her head nodding once. “She likes it at the same time.”

Sam listens, and pushes into her firmly, her fingers curling upward against the heavy pressure of her tongue. Andrea squirms with a jolt. Even just the _idea_ of this happening creates a sensation that leaves her desperate. 

She doesn’t know why this is what her body settles on, why the idea of Lena watching her -- watching _them_ \-- has her completely spiraling into out of control bliss. But there it is. She doesn’t try to fight it, she’s too exhausted for all that. She lets it go, the build-up starting to reach an apex as she continues to push. 

After a few more seconds, Andrea whimpers, feeling herself come undone. Her heartbeat pounds out of her chest as she tumbles over the edge, her orgasm in Sam’s mouth and Lena’s name on her tongue. 

Several long minutes later, when her breathing returns to normal, she opens her eyes and sits up. Her mind is racing, the cobwebs from the alcohol finally all shaken loose, falling to the floor with the rest of her suppressed demons. Apparently this entire thing runs deeper than she even expected. 

This is not at _all_ how tonight was supposed to go. It was supposed to be fun and stupid. She was supposed to be the one in control. She was supposed to seduce Sam to prove a point, and come out of it feeling victorious.

Instead, she’s thoroughly fucked and wishing for more, waiting at the mercy of a woman she doesn’t even _like_.

This is entirely Sam Arias’ fault. If she didn’t have to be at that ridiculous bar, insisting on stupid shots, being all dopey and charming and insufferably _hot_ \--

No. That’s not how this is going to go, she decides. She’s going to get even. Actually, she’s going to _win_ . She wants to know if Sam is suffering just as much, if she wants her just as bad. And if she’s not, then Andrea is going to _make_ her. The next time they’re together -- and Andrea already knows there will be a next time -- she plans to find out just how far she can push. She plans to work Sam just as hard, if not harder, to turn these tables. She refuses to be the only one left _wanting_.

Andrea Rojas doesn’t _lose_ , and she’ll go to great lengths to prove it. 

For now, she can only hope that Sam is sitting in her room, unable to function until she can get her hands on Andrea again.

Xxx

Two weeks later, Sam Arias is in her office in Metropolis, fretting over spreadsheets and running her fingers through her hair after every fifth row in a haphazard attempt to make _any_ of the numbers make goddamn sense. Her eyes are bleary and dry, her back knotted from being in the same stupid, hunched position -- her “concentration pose” Lena had once called it -- though that was being generous. It was more like a contortionist exercise, where she’d tuck her long limbs in on themselves, her one leg bent and hiked up on her chair with the sole of her foot flat on the bottom, her arms wrapped around her shin as she’d squint to read her laptop. 

Practical? Hardly. Comfortable? Also no. But at this point, it was a habit, as natural as breathing, and she wasn’t going to be able to break it now. 

A knock on her office door breaks her concentration. She frowns, checking the time and then her calendar, looking for another meeting that probably could have been an email. To her surprise, the rest of her evening is wide open. She unwraps her body and stretches like an accordion, wincing at the tightness in all her joints as they flex. 

The door opens slowly and her assistant peeks her head in with a tentative “I’m sorry” smile. 

“Ms. Arias,” she says, clearing her throat. “There’s a Ms. Rojas here to see you?”

She poses it like a question, and it’s a really good fucking question. Sam blinks several times in confusion as the words register in her slow moving brain. She could have sworn her assistant said “Ms. Rojas” but that has to be a mistake. There’s no way Andrea Rojas would be standing outside her office without an appointment. In fact, there’s no way Andrea would be standing outside her office _with_ an appointment. 

Maybe her assistant has the name wrong. Or it’s another Ms. Rojas entirely. Surely it can’t be--

“Do you want me to reschedule her?” she asks timidly, glancing sideways nervously, like the person in question is within earshot. 

Her assistant should really get a raise, bless her. Sam shakes her head, trying to work out why the actual _fuck_ Andrea Rojas would be in Metropolis at her office, but nothing comes. She simply just continues to shake her head dumbly until she realizes she hasn’t actually provided any instruction on what to do. 

Wow. This has got to be the longest fucking day in the history of long fucking days.

“N-no,” Sam stumbles. She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes for a moment, trying to center herself. Whatever this in-person visit might mean, she’s sure it can’t be for anything good. She braces and nods to herself, resolving to face it, head on. “No, you can send her in.”

Her assistant nods, looking slightly relieved, and Sam can only imagine how unfair it would have been to make this new-to-career employee of hers try to say “no” to Andrea Rojas. 

Sam herself isn’t even up to that challenge, and she curses herself internally. 

A moment later, Andrea Rojas herself breezes through the door looking expensive, serious and somewhat angry, and Sam hates the way her entire body seems to react like she’s on fire. 

“Andrea,” Sam says, calmly, watching the way Andrea practically stalks around the chairs in front of her desk and stares _through_ her, unsmiling and _smug_ . She’s wearing a black sleeveless shirt, her arms freely exposed and soft, the collar folded just enough to hide the delicate lines of her neck. Sam thanks any gods that will listen for _that_. “This is ah-- a surprise?”

“Indeed it is,” Andrea slows to standing, her hands on her hips, searching around the office like she’s trying to find something. Sam follows her eyes as Andrea scours over her bookshelf, crammed with fairly innocuous finance books, and then around the walls, adorned with framed diplomas, family photos, and awards, among other personal belongings. She finally settles on the autographed baseball covered on Sam's desk and her lips seem to curl into a wry grin. “I was in the neighborhood,” Andrea offers as an explanation, which only opens more questions, but Sam just goes with it. 

“I’m--” Sam stands up, trying to intercept her before Andrea can round the corner of her desk. “Is there something I can help you with?”

They aren’t exactly colleagues, and they most certainly aren’t friends, so Sam doesn’t know _what_ to make of this impromptu meeting. Andrea seems poised, as always, but a little nervous, the way Lena gets when she’s trying to seem more intimidating than she really is. 

Andrea, for her part, hopes Sam can’t read through her -- because none of this was planned. She sort of just happened on the L-Corp office, and took it upon herself to _be_ here. The nerves didn’t start churning until Sam’s deep eyes looked up from her work and landed on Andrea, all warm and friendly and adorably confused. And that’s the last thing she wants to associate with Sam Arias. She doesn’t _want_ to think of Sam as being adorable. She doesn’t want to think of her at all, if she’s honest. But they’re beyond that, it seems, and here she is in her fucking office of all places. It would be an intimate space for anyone, but Sam has a way of making it even _more_ so. In just a five second appraisal, she’d learned at least ten new facts about Sam Arias that she didn’t want, or care to know. 

Now she’s standing here in front of Sam without an invitation and by her estimation, probably dangerously close to being thrown out by security. Oh, if only Sam had the guts for _that_ . Andrea would _live_ for it. 

“What are you _doing_ here?” Sam asks again, a little more direct this time. It’s possible this is business related, that something she’s responsible for has Andrea worked up enough to drop by unannounced.

But she knows deep down in her gut that this visit is more personal. 

She isn’t sure how to play this one. The incident in Beijing -- _incident_ being the only way she can try to refer to it -- had been a one time thing. A drunken mishap, definitely understandable if not a totally forgivable lapse in judgement. But this is entirely different. This is Andrea Rojas, sober, standing in her office in _Metropolis_ , deliberately engaging with her. And Sam isn’t sure if she’s angry, or trying to bait her, or some weird combination of both. 

“You know why I’m here,” Andrea says abruptly, her eyes challenging. She continues to walk toward Sam, her eyebrow raising to the sky. It’s an invitation to acknowledge their predicament or not. Sam swallows. 

They’re standing in each other’s space now, Andrea grilling her up and down with hot, fast breaths as she bites her lip. Sam swallows heavily again, feeling the way the tension pulls them together, the hot wave of fire engulfing them both in an embrace. Andrea takes another step forward, and Sam bumps back against her desk, half-sitting on it as she lets Andrea continue to stare her down. 

“This is all your fault,” Andrea hisses before she steps between Sam’s legs. 

“ _What_ is my--” the words get swallowed by Andrea’s lips, as she pulls her into a searing kiss. 

Her mouth is greedy and forceful, but Sam hardly minds. In fact, it’s exactly what she’s been craving for the past few weeks, ever since she had her first taste of it. She relaxes, letting Andrea’s tongue push further into her mouth, giving where she takes, allowing her to guide the way.

It feels familiar and _dangerous_ and Sam’s head is already spinning. 

Andrea starts to work her hands under Sam’s collar, tugging at the top button of her shirt like she can’t undo it fast enough. Sam pulls back slightly, her hands meeting Andrea’s at the top.

“Cameras,” she manages to whisper against Andrea’s ear, glancing away from her and right to the top corner of her office where she knows of at least one security device. “Unless you want this broadcasted all over L-Corp security, I suggest we take this somewhere a little more private.”

Andrea follows Sam’s eyes and looks over her shoulder, wide-eyed, as she realizes this is not the _best_ idea. Just to be clear, her original half-cocked plan was to get Sam in another hotel room, not start going at it in the office. But that all went out the window as soon as they locked eyes. Just being in the same vicinity with Sam has proved to be more challenging to her impulse control than previously anticipated. She’s annoyed at how this is still very much a problem that needs to be solved, and fast. 

She turns back to Sam and reaches around her, grabbing a pen and a discarded piece of paper. She scribbles an address and a room number before slipping it down Sam’s shirt. 

“8pm,” she says, staring Sam down, giving her no choice but to accept. 

“I thought this was never going to happen again,” Sam says, removing the address from her shirt and glancing at it. The Plaza, downtown. Of course. “Your words,” Sam reminds her.

“Shut up,” Andrea says, already facing the door. She walks briskly away, not even looking back. All Sam can hear as she reaches for the handle is a stiff “don’t keep me waiting.”

The door rattles shut as she lets it slam. Sam stares down at the crinkled piece of paper boring a hole in her hand, baffled at the entire exchange. Her office feels cold and empty in the wake of Andrea’s departure, and she’s left with nothing but a pounding heart, tingling lips and a promise for an encore.

Xxx

Obviously she needs to ignore Andrea’s invitation and pretend the entire thing never happened. 

Obviously she needs to go right home, turn off her phone, and ignore the rush of adrenaline coursing through her veins at the way Andrea practically attacked her in her office.

Obviously she doesn’t do any of those things, and instead, shows up at the designated meeting place -- the overpriced, swanky hotel downtown that just screams _Andrea Rojas_ \-- at 8pm on the dot. 

Of course she does.

She goes up to the penthouse suite as scribbled on the card she was given, and gathers herself outside the door. She knows exactly what’s going to transpire if she knocks, and she doesn’t try to convince herself otherwise. This is going to be round two, and it’s going to be a bad idea, and it’s also going to be fucking fantastic.

It’s weird to be sober, to be doing this with supposed lucid rationality, but something about Andrea seems to skew her senses without the help of alcohol. There’s something primal that gnaws at her, an attraction that drives her crazy for even existing in the first place. It always seems to win out when it comes to decisions she knows better than to act on.

She has no idea what Andrea’s thinking, but she has a feeling she knows at least enough. They’re clearly on the same page if it got Andrea all the way to Metropolis for a meet up. 

She takes a deep breath, knocks and waits.

Andrea opens the door quickly, ushering Sam inside with a forceful gesture. She glances around her shoulder and down the hallway, looking both ways before closing the door behind them. 

“Were you seen?” she asks as soon as they’re alone.

“You didn’t seem to care about that a few hours ago,” Sam reminds her, and Andrea gives her an exasperated glare. Sam rolls her eyes and shrugs. “Relax. I don’t have paparazzi following my every move. I’m not exactly front page news material.”

“Well, not for my publication, anyway,” Andrea agrees, her haughty smirk back in place as she looks Sam up and down. “Can’t say the same for my trashy competition.”

“Do you feel better now? Getting a few early punches in?” Sam asks, annoyed at herself for even _being_ here. But it’s part of the thrill, and part of the allure. She doesn’t have to play nice, she doesn’t even have to _be_ nice. With Andrea, she can be unguarded, and bad, and completely someone else. And it feels so freeing she could just scream about it. 

By now, she’s adjusted to the room -- a large suite with a bathtub settled between the bathroom and the freshly made King bed, with a step down into a larger sitting area that leads out to a terrace. 

It’s much bigger than anyone would reasonably need for a solo trip, but Sam doesn’t ask questions. Maybe this was all pre-arranged. Maybe Andrea always had this ulterior motive. 

Sam decides she doesn’t want to know. 

Andrea doesn’t dignify her question with an answer. Instead, she saunters dangerously across the room, handling a chilled bottle of champagne and pouring the contents into two empty glasses. She’s wearing a dark, silk-like robe, her face fresh with only the bare minimum of make-up. A bit of chapstick, a little eyeliner. Sam swallows heavily. Something about seeing a casual, lowkey Andrea Rojas outside of the board room _does_ things to her. And she hates that she’s _addicted_ to it. 

“Are we celebrating something?” Sam asks, tentatively, eyeing the champagne and wondering what the actual fuck is happening here. She tries to avoid Andrea’s soft face and blue eyed gaze as she does. 

“Don’t be weird,” Andrea scolds, handing her the glass. Sam inexplicably relaxes at the snappy response. “It’s free with the room, and I hate to waste it.”

“That’s fair,” Sam accepts it with a grin.

“I’m not here to see you,” Andrea says after a few quiet moments. “Just so we’re clear. Get that through your head.”

“Ok,” Sam says, taking a slow sip of her champagne. “But you also came into my office without an appointment so...”

Andrea ignores that, twirling her glass in her capable, unmanicured hand. Sam watches her bring it to her lips, and swallow slowly, her throat moving with such elegance that Sam’s mouth goes completely dry. She looks away.

“Last time was unfair,” Andrea announces, placing her glass on the table and crossing her arms with defiance. Sam glances back at her. “I had more to drink than you did.”

“Hm, so this is a do over?” Sam asks. She places her glass down and saunters over to where Andrea is standing. She gets into her space, a little payback for earlier in her office. Her chest warms at the way Andrea’s arms drop to her side, and the way her robe falls back revealing her shoulders and the black strap of a very deliberately chosen lace bra. “This seems intentional,” Sam says, her fingers running over the strap and pushing the robe down further. The fabric opens more and she notices a perfectly matching black g-string. Fuck. 

Screw what Andrea says. This outfit was definitely chosen _for her_. 

“The same rules apply,” Andrea reminds her just as Sam grabs at her hips and pulls her in close. She simply grumbles in response as her lips find Andrea’s. She bites at them hard, her hands wandering up and down her surprisingly toned sides, up to her ribs and over the outline of softly carved abdominal muscles. She hadn’t noticed much of anything before in regards to Andrea’s body, with everything happening so fast, but this time, everything is more purposeful. They’re going a little slower, and there’s significantly less clothing. 

Sam reaches around and grabs at her ass, hard, delighting in the way Andrea grins into their kiss.

The verdict is easy: Andrea’s personality may be lacking, but her body is a fucking _gift_ , and Sam is already figuring out all the ways she can appreciate it. 

“I have rules too, you know,” Sam says suddenly, her tongue teasing along Andrea’s ear. She takes pride in the way Andrea shivers against her. 

“Okay,” Andrea whispers, her eyes fluttering closed. 

“One,” Sam says, breath hot against Andrea’s skin. “No deliberate eye contact,” she says gruffly, and Andrea whimpers a little at that. She nods once. “And two,” Sam says slowly, stretching the pause between words just enough for emphasis. She tugs at the robe again, forcing it to fall back entirely, watching it cascade down to Andrea’s feet. It leaves her with only a few small pieces of fabric as a barrier. “No clothes.”

Andrea steps away from her discarded robe and takes Sam’s hand, pulling her silently toward the bed. She releases her hand and sits back on the mattress, waiting, as Sam stalks toward her, pulling her sweater up over her head and throwing it carelessly over a chair. She unzips her pants and lets them fall, stepping out of them easily and crawling up the bed in a flourish of movements that seem far too graceful for most people to pull off. Andrea feels annoyance, and the burn of something else -- jealousy, she realizes -- stir somewhere deep in her stomach. She grits her teeth and exhales strongly as Sam hovers over top of her.

It’s suddenly _a lot_ , and Andrea realizes this is going to be much different from their last encounter. For one, there’s so much _more_ happening, and so much _less_ to hide behind: less clothing, less alcohol, less reckless abandon. She can’t help but really notice Sam, and what she sees is, of course, fucking incredible. She watches the lean lines of muscle flexing in the most pleasing places-- in the toned triceps as they support Sam’s weight, in her thighs that are now in between her own -- basically everywhere Andrea looks, there’s a new line sculpted in Sam’s body that Andrea wants to run over with her tongue.

Sam doesn’t look at her, as promised. She simply lowers herself down warmly on top of her and resumes kissing her _hard_ . Sam kisses exactly in line with her personality: easy, and casual, but hard enough to leave you wanting. She’s smooth and teasing, smiling when she knows she’s got you on the ropes. Andrea _hates_ it, and wants more of it immediately.

Sam’s lips travel down Andrea’s neck, nipping at familiar territory and running her tongue deliberately over certain places over and over. This time she notices the way Andrea’s pulse beats in her neck, and the way her throat is smooth like silk, with small goosebumps appearing as Sam breathes hot against her skin. She moves the strap of her bra over, carefully tracing the newly exposed skin with her teeth. She leans her weight on one hand, and with the other, she reaches around Andrea’s back and takes the clasp with her fingers. 

With a swift movement and a snap, the clasp comes undone and Sam grins at the way Andrea’s eyes widen just a little. Andrea discards it herself, pulling it aside and throwing it down to the floor. 

Andrea notes the way Sam’s eyes dilate with hunger as soon as she’s on her back without anything covering her. She can’t help the wry smile that spills over her lips, because _this_ is what she wants: she wants Sam to feel it, she wants Sam to recognize exactly what she’s got to work with. She avoids Sam’s eyes by closing her own, and within seconds, she feels Sam’s warm mouth teasing at her nipple, teething at the sensitive skin just enough to make Andrea’s back arch. Sam licks her way across her sternum and to the other side, her tongue working on newly chartered territory, her hands expertly working the breast she left behind. Andrea squirms with tension, feeling hot and fiery as Sam takes her time making her way lower. 

She opens her eyes and spreads her legs, impatiently bucking her hips against Sam’s and whimpering slightly. She refuses to beg, or tell Sam anything, but she wants her to know this _has_ to happen. If it doesn’t, she’s going to fucking explode.

Sam breathes against her skin -- part chuckle, part exhale -- and she scratches her fingernails down her torso. She strokes the inside of her thigh, her fingers approaching the lace fabric of her thong. She taps her finger twice on Andrea’s hips, scolding slightly with a shake of her head. 

“Off,” she commands, her voice low and sexy. 

Andrea lifts her hips just enough for Sam to pull them down, and Andrea kicks them off with a flick of her ankle. She chances a quick glance at Sam’s face, pleased to find Sam swallowing heavily and biting her lip as she stares between Andrea’s thighs. 

“Fuck,” she breathes, and Andrea’s chest burns with something other than hate.

Sam doesn’t waste any time. Her fingers swirl up around her entrance, and Andrea knows she’s soaked by the way Sam’s mouth hangs open slightly. She spreads her legs further apart and Sam grins, before pushing fully inside her, two fingers knuckles deep as she settles back on top of her.

Andrea groans against the sensation and lets Sam take her, her entire body pulsing with relentless _need_. This is why she got on a fucking plane to Metropolis. This is why she hasn’t been able to sleep properly since they fucked in Beijing.

This is all Sam Arias’ fault, but God, if she isn’t making it so worthwhile now.

“You’re so wet,” Sam husks in her ear, and Andrea’s eyes roll back. She quickly clears her throat and scowls.

“Don’t talk,” she orders, even though she _really_ doesn’t want to. There’s something about Sam’s velvety voice in her ear while she’s being fucked that almost makes her come right then and there. 

Sam bites at her neck and keeps pounding into her, like she’s punishing her for sticking to the rules. Andrea doesn’t mind. In fact, it turns her on even more the way Sam gets bothered by being told what to do.

Her body is tense and tight, the tension building deep in her belly as Sam continues to fuck her senseless. She feels her fingers curl slowly, her thumb rubbing at her clit as Andrea moans against the friction. Sam picks up the pace just enough, and Andrea feels her legs start to quiver.

“Sam--” she starts, but she quickly bites down on her lip, refusing to say anything else. She doesn’t want to moan her name, doesn’t want Sam to get any stupid ideas. Sam doesn’t respond, instead just continuing to work her into oblivion. 

Her climax comes fast and hard, almost surprising her with the way her entire body gets caught in the wave of her own pleasure. Sam keeps at it, working her through her orgasm and beyond, until Andrea is finally forced to grab her hand and force her to slow down.

Sam is breathing hard, her body heavy on top of Andrea’s. It isn’t uncomfortable, though. In fact, Andrea finds it weirdly nice, even though she knows they’re dangerously close to being _too_ much. There’s a fine line that they’re dancing on, and Andrea doesn’t want any of this to feel _cozy_. Sam seems to read it, because she extracts her limbs from between Andrea’s legs and rolls off her in one swift movement. 

Andrea grabs her wrist before she can stop herself. She already got part of what she wanted when she came here, but not everything. Not quite. She still needs to make Sam remember who she’s in bed with. She can’t just let her walk away from another encounter unfazed and unapologetic. 

“No, we’re not done,” Andrea huffs, pulling Sam back closer. “You don’t get to walk away.”

“Then make me stay,” Sam immediately challenges. She slips out of her underwear, kicking it away quickly. Andrea cocks her head to the side, hesitant for just long enough before Sam takes her hand. She turns back and breaks her own rule, staring at Andrea deliberately as she directs her touch, pressing it against her wetness and waiting for Andrea’s reaction. 

“Fuck,” Andrea says breathily. She bites her lip, her fingers feeling just how turned on Sam is. It’s like hitting the jackpot, and her fingers start to tease and stroke carefully.

This is _exactly_ what she came for. Literally, figuratively, all of it.

Sam doesn’t wait, instead taking her own hand and spreading Andrea’s legs apart forcefully. She pushes two fingers in deep again, the velvety warmth coating her fingers as she starts to work her so hard that her entire body moves in Sam’s rhythm. She adjusts slightly, widening her hips so her thighs can bracket Andrea's, spreading her legs enough that Andrea can return the favor. Her fingers push deep into Sam just as she thrusts again, causing Sam to fall forward slightly and bury her face in Andrea's neck.

Sam groans at the way she stretches against Andrea’s fingers, and the way they twist and curl inside her like they’re trying to prove a point. It hurts for a second, in the best possible way, because it’s been too long since Sam’s let anyone touch her. The sensation gives way quickly as her body adjusts, and soon it feels so fucking good, she doesn't even care that Andrea can now feel exactly how turned on Sam gets from being with her.

A necessary loss, especially if she gets an orgasm out of the whole thing.

“Oh God,” Sam groans, feeling Andrea pick up the pace to match Sam’s. It’s like she knows exactly where to be and how fast to go, and Sam is _reeling_. 

Andrea clenches around her fingers, and Sam flexes to keep up the pace. She knows Andrea is close, feeling the way she quivers slightly underneath her, and the way her breathing starts to hitch and start in uneven bursts. Sam shifts from on top and angles herself more to the side, her eyes careful to avoid meeting Andrea’s as she slides in next to her. Andrea’s mouth finds her shoulder, her teeth nipping at Sam’s muscle as they continue to work each other in tandem. She slowly removes her fingers and focuses on circling around Andrea’s clit in practiced strokes at a pace that seems to hit her just right. 

“Don’t stop,” Andrea directs huskily against Sam’s skin. It’s a forceful threat, one that Sam _wants_ to disobey, but knows she doesn’t have the willpower to carry out. She angles a bit for more leverage, silently directing Andrea to mimic her movements. If she’s going to give Andrea another orgasm, then she better fucking keep up. 

Sam continues to work her quickly, then slower, then quicker again, feeling the way Andrea matches her, her fingers expertly stroking against her clit and sending pleasant jolts up her spine. 

“I’m close--” Sam whispers, her eyes closing so she can avoid staring at Andrea and her perfect body. Her abdomen feels coiled and tight, her muscles straining like they’re caged and protesting. Their breaths are ragged and shared, heaving against each other as they continue to push. Andrea’s hips quiver and shake, before she lets out an exhausted moan against Sam’s shoulder, just as her fingers work Sam over the edge with her. 

They lay against each other for several moments, a chaotic tangled mess of limbs and tousled hair. Sam’s legs feel like jelly, her entire body boneless, and it’s surprising how easy Andrea was able to get her there. Her eyes flutter open first, and she catches the way Andrea’s face looks calm and happy, a lazy smile across her full, pouty lips. Her eyes are still closed, and she seems peaceful, and totally...gorgeous. Sam wants to kiss her.

She doesn’t. Instead, she stiffens at the horrifying realization that she almost had _nice_ thoughts about Andrea. Despite the pleasant release of dopamine in her brain, this is still Andrea Rojas we’re talking about. She clears her throat and runs her fingers through her hair, trying to break the moment without acting like a total spazz. The change in her demeanor causes Andrea to frown, and she opens her eyes with a look of annoyance. 

Sam offers a sheepish grin, before detangling herself from Andrea and turning away from her, occupying herself with gathering all her clothes. Anything to avoid her ice cold stare.

Andrea studies Sam’s back, the lean muscles flexing in her shoulders as she grabs her clothes. Andrea wraps the sheet firmer around herself, even though Sam just had her hands all over her naked body a half minute ago. She props herself up against the pillows and waits. 

Her mind is slow, her thoughts lazy. She feels blissful and content, the kind of carefree that only comes after great sex. She’ll be annoyed about it later, she knows. But right now -- right now, she doesn’t feel much of anything. And it’s _intoxicating_.

Sam zips up her pants and walks casually across the room. She stares at her forgotten glass of champagne, but instead of going for that, she decides to take a swig from the goddamn bottle. 

Andrea rolls her eyes and Sam simply shrugs.

Andrea appreciates that she doesn’t try to linger, or try to make it awkward. She gets right out of bed and right back to normal, and it’s… nice. Andrea doesn’t want to give her too much credit, it’s not fucking rocket science, but still. She knows it’s the post coital bliss talking, but at least Sam Arias doesn’t make the entire thing an _ordeal._

She’s too close to actually paying her a compliment, so before that can happen, she sits up straight and tries to remember what the hell they’re even doing. 

“Hey,” Andrea blurts suddenly as Sam makes her way to the door, her firm, angry mask already back in place. Sam stops and looks back at her. “This isn’t--”

“I know,” Sam says, dismissively, before Andrea can finish. “This was the last time. Take care, Andrea.”

The door shuts, and Andrea tries not to think about anything for a good long while. 

Xxx

Lena’s visit to Obsidian North really isn’t planned. It’s one of those things where her schedule happens to clear, and she’s been meaning to get over there anyway, and you know, why _not_? 

She’s still not used to the fact that Andrea Rojas is _back_. After all these years and all the distance between them, it’s such a strange sensation to have her former best friend -- and more, if she allows herself to be honest -- within walking distance again. So when Andrea shoots her a surprise e-mail “just to catch up”, Lena is all too happy to pick up lunch and parade over there like this is just something they do.

And it _should_ be something they do, she thinks, remembering wistfully all the days they used to spend curled up together in coffee shops, pretending to study but really drawing on books, outlining the names of people in their class that they hoped would one day notice them. At that point in time they were far too shy to really go after anyone, or make a spectacle of themselves, but it made for fascinating conversation when they acted like it _could_ happen.

Andrea always loved the what-ifs, the endless possibility of encounters and chance. Lena was always more practical, never trusting things she couldn’t control. But it was always so fun to try to keep up with Andrea, to make spectacles of themselves in teenaged attempts at attention. Until they both started to realize that the person they most wanted attention from was sitting across from them the whole time. 

It all seems a million years away now, and Lena is just happy for an excuse to try to mend their relationship at all, even if she was the one that shut the door. 

They have to start with small steps, anyway, she reasons. The rest will follow. 

“Ms. Rojas, Ms. Luthor is here to see you,” Andrea’s assistant chirps over the intercom. 

“Send her in,” Andrea replies quickly, like she’s almost surprised that Lena took her up on her offer. But, true to form, Lena walks in a few moments later, smiling, holding a bag of take out and a gleam in her eye like they haven’t missed a beat. 

“Hope you still like Thai,” Lena says by way of greeting. She holds the bag up with a grin and Andrea nods excitedly. It’s such a contrast from their previous tense meetings that Andrea almost doesn’t believe it’s happening. But then she sees the way Lena’s eyes dart nervously, and the way she chuckles a little at her own insecurity, and Andrea relaxes.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Andrea says, trying to contain the fact that she’s absolutely charmed. She knows how badly she wants to fix things, how much she wants to be friends again, and it’s a relief to see Lena standing there as desperately awkward as Andrea feels and willing to fix things just as much. 

“I know,” Lena shrugs. “But here we are anyway, right?”

Andrea thinks about it often. All the time, in fact. Losing Lena was one of the biggest regrets of her life. She managed, somehow, but it’s always been a little bit darker. She wonders if it’s been just as hard for Lena. Obviously she seems to be doing well for herself, but Lena never had a problem putting on a facade. She catches herself wondering, not for the first time, if Lena goes home at night and thinks about what could have been.

She hates that she hopes there’s still enough sadness there to mean Lena still _cares_. 

Andrea nods, more to herself than at Lena, already pushing away from her desk to join her across the room. She skillfully maneuvers them to a couch in the corner of her office, a spot she could imagine being _theirs_ if this starts to become a more weekly occurrence. 

Lena takes her spot on the couch and watches the way Andrea slowly removes everything from the bag, appraising it with a soft smile. Lena knows a bag of take out is hardly enough for a peace offering, but the way Andrea regards it -- regards _her_ \-- speaks volumes. There’s so much she wants to say, but she knows they will have to take their time getting there. 

So she starts slowly. 

“How was Beijing? You never told me how you got on with all that,” Lena says between bites, looking at her food casually as she speaks. “It sounded like it was a huge success.”

“I think it went well, all things considered,” Andrea says carefully, trying to gauge where Lena’s intentions might be. Does she know? Is this a test? Her paranoia is suddenly at a level ten, and it’s ridiculous how awful she feels. Just the mention of the conference stirs a guilt in her gut that surprises her with how _intense_ it is. She knew this entire situation with Sam was tricky, but to look Lena in the face -- her genuine, earnest face -- she’s reminded just how _bad_ she's been. But Lena seems relaxed, and perfectly unbothered, so Andrea tries to keep her composure. “Could have done without that speech, though. You really had to put me on the spot, didn’t you?”

“You know I only did that to help,” Lena looks offended, but she blinks in such a way that Andrea knows she’s only putting on airs. “If anyone could bring that audience to attention, it would be you.”

“You don’t have to flatter me,” Andrea replies, feeling the way the warmth rushes to her cheeks. It’s crazy that it happens so easily, just like that, even after all this time. Lena still has her captivated, and it would be frustrating if it wasn’t so endearing. “But I love when you do.”

Lena smiles, her lips twisting slightly like she’s holding on to something. Andrea notices the way her cheeks color just enough to make her heart skip a beat. 

“It was a shame you couldn’t be there, though. That would have been a blast,” Andrea says. And it feels good to speak honestly about something for once. She misses Lena terribly. She misses standing in corners at over-the-top galas and making faces at absolute asshats trying too hard. She misses making eyes across the room as a signal to get out of a conversation, the other person always knowing exactly when and how to execute a perfect rescue.

Her mind flips to Sam, and the way she smoothly commandeered an almost hostile situation with Roger, and her stomach twists a little. They didn’t even have a friendship, let alone a way to secretly convey a _need_ , and yet there she was. A fucking hero. 

She takes a long sip of water, hoping she hasn’t tipped Lena off to anything uncomfortable. She wants to come clean, to confess everything, even though she knows it’s a bit ridiculous. Sam doesn’t belong to Lena, they aren’t dating anymore -- thank God for _that_ \-- but the whole thing just seems dirty. She doesn’t want to hide it, but she doesn’t even know what _it_ is. And even if she did confess, things with Lena are just so tentative she isn’t ready to _go_ there yet. Or maybe she is. It's all just so fucking stupid and confusing, and she wishes she wasn't so obsessed with beating Sam Arias at an impossible game, but here she is. 

She studies Lena again. She's impossibly put together, as always, smoothing the napkin on her lap and meeting Andrea's eyes with just a hint of teasing behind her smile. Being with Lena is like being included in a really juicy secret - only she never says it out loud. She simply communicates it with a look, or a touch, and that's all Andrea's ever needed. Lena's approval has always mattered, and she's only craving it now because it's been forever. Lena was always her reality check. Her sounding board, her rock. Lena is the one that keeps her grounded, and she hasn’t been _real_ in such a long time.

“I know, I was actually sad to miss it, if you can believe that,” Lena cuts in, interrupting Andrea’s runaway thoughts. “And I’ll have to give Sam a bonus for taking it at the last minute, I sort of sprung it on her.” Lena looks guilty as she takes a small bite of her salad. 

“Ah yes,” Andrea nods, trying to keep her face impassive as her heart does a swan dive. “Sam, your fearless CFO.”

“Did you see her there?” Lena asks, tilting her head. An innocent question, of course, but it still pierces like a knife. 

Andrea tries to respond, but decides brevity is best. “Mmhmm.”

“Be nice,” Lena warns, before breaking into a knowing smile. “You two would get along famously if you gave it a chance. You’re both… I don’t know. You know how to read a room, you know how to navigate. You’re both very good at _people_. Much better than I could ever hope to be, that’s for sure.”

“Maybe we’re too similar,” Andrea replies, trying to push away the comparisons. She doesn’t want to be associated with Sam, even though the evidence of their dalliance is still visible beneath her clothes. 

“Maybe,” Lena agrees, shrugging. “That would make sense, wouldn’t it?” 

Lena ponders it more. It was probably in poor taste to start talking about Sam to Andrea, not that it really matters. Her past with Andrea was so long ago, it hardly seems real. But complimenting one ex-girlfriend to another is probably not the best way to improve a fractured relationship, in any event. Part of her can’t help it, though. She wants to see how Andrea reacts. She doesn’t know where they stand at all in terms of feelings, despite both having broken hearts. And it’s not like she can just come right out and ask. No, that would be absurd. 

So instead, she takes the complete opposite of the high road and needles Andrea to try to provoke some sort of reaction. Repairing relationships 101.

“Well, anyway, she’s been truly fantastic. I really wouldn’t be able to do any of this without her,” Lena finishes, proud of the way she can remain stoic despite the storm churning in her mind. 

Lena notices the way Andrea’s jaw clenches before she speaks. “It’s a wonder she hasn’t been poached by any of those other vultures out there.”

“She’s extremely loyal,” Lena assures herself, more than Andrea. “She wouldn’t leave L-Corp.”

“She wouldn’t leave _you_ , you mean,” Andrea says. Lena shrugs at that, but Andrea is already seething. She isn’t even sure which part makes her more angry: Sam always choosing Lena, or Lena counting on it. 

Hearing Lena sing Sam’s praises twists a knife Andrea wasn’t even aware was in her back. But now that it’s happening, all she can see is red. She wants to bring Sam down a few notches in Lena’s eyes. She wants to taunt her and make her look bad. She doesn’t want to hurt Lena, but if she can somehow spin this to make Sam look a little _worse_ , well, then that’s just how this is going to have to go. 

“Speaking of loyalty,” Andrea places her fork down gently, wiping her hands with a napkin. Her face looks somewhat serious, and Lena pauses. “Do you remember that game we used to play in high school...fuck, marry, kill?”

It’s such a silly question that Lena almost chokes on her food. She was expecting Andrea to get down to business, to ask some obscene request from Lena that would require contracts and L-Corp resources. Not… about high school games and nonsense. Still, it’s a pleasant change from their former agreements that she can’t help the warmth that spreads in her chest at the sincere way Andrea seems to be reaching. 

“Ha, I didn’t know we were going to be waxing nostalgic this afternoon,” Lena chuckles, shaking her head. “But yes, I remember. Though I also distinctly remember you changing the rules. No killing, only making out.”

Lena stares at her in that way she always had, a low, teasing smile across her lips as she blinks slowly, her eyes tracing up and finding Andrea’s after several seconds. It’s playful, and overly intimate, just the way it always was. Andrea hasn’t been on the receiving end of a playful Lena Luthor smirk in years, and the realization hits her hard in more than one place.

“Right,” Andrea says, distracted. She ignores Lena’s wicked grin and twists her lips, like she’s on the verge of saying something entirely different. Lena’s grin fades into concern. “Anyway. What if… I hypothetically made out with someone?”

“Is this some sort of code?” Lena leans forward, a conspiratorial frown playing on her lips. “Please tell me you don’t have a body buried somewhere.”

“No! God, Lena, what do you think I am?” Andrea gasps, a little shocked at Lena’s seriousness. “No! Nothing like that. It’s just-- okay, like what would you do if I _actually_ made out with someone?”

“ _Should_ I do anything about this?” Lena asks, her eyebrows joining together in confusion. Andrea loves the way Lena’s face almost turns into a pout when she’s confused. It doesn’t happen often, but when it does, it’s always so endearing that she forgets how fun it is to try to talk her in circles sometimes. 

“Well, let’s say it’s someone we both know,” Andrea starts, teasing just a little. It would probably be easiest if Lena could guess, although the odds of her guessing Sam are slim to none without significant hints. She wants Lena to reach the conclusion herself, as much as possible, to keep Andrea in the clear. 

“Please tell me it wasn’t that horrible Roger,” Lena groans, crinkling her nose in disgust. “I’ve removed him from the gala invitation list for next month, by the way. Troll.”

“Ew, God no,” Andrea shudders. Just the thought of that is horrible enough. “Thanks, though. I meant to ask you to do that.”

Lena nods, picking at her salad again with her fork. “So, you also had some _fun_ in Beijing it sounds like. Obsidian’s VR really working wonders?”

Andrea rolls her eyes at the pathetic implications. “Stop it,” she twists her lips in a pout and Lena chuckles. “No, it was real, thank you very much.”

Lena waits impatiently. It’s clear Andrea wants to tell her, but something is holding her back. She isn’t sure if it’s embarrassment, or the weight of a really, juicy secret, but Lena is getting impatient. 

“Well, get on with it, then, don’t make me guess!”

“It was your loyal CFO that you were just raving about, actually,” Andrea says, a little harsher than she means for it to be. She leans back against the couch smugly, her arm stretched out over the back like she’s won some sort of prize. She waits for Lena’s reaction. 

The words land awkwardly between them. Lena doesn’t even react right away, convinced she heard something entirely different. She swallows her food and thinks about all the people Andrea could be mistaking for her CFO. All one of them. But surely she can’t mean--

“My CFO… Sam Arias?”

Andrea nods once.

“Well then, if you told me that, I’d say you were crazy,” Lena laughs incredulously, shaking her head at the idea. It’s preposterous, and she truly can’t believe Andrea would even go there. “You literally just admitted you don’t even _like_ her.” Lena continues to chuckle. “I mean, not in so many words, but I saw the way your eyes rolled. I still know you, Andrea.”

Andrea’s heart skips at that. She isn’t sure Lena really does know her much anymore, but she desperately wishes for her words to be true. 

“I’m just curious, like, what you would do,” Andrea pushes aside her feelings and digs deeper. 

Lena doesn’t answer, instead opting for a sip of her water. It doesn’t get stuck in her throat, but still manages to taste bitter all the way down. 

“I don’t suppose I would do anything,” Lena says, slower this time, more serious. She isn’t sure if this is still all in good fun, or Andrea’s way of telling her something _more_ , but she’s not sure she wants the answer. “I mean, there isn’t anything for me to do. She isn’t… mine, anymore. You know? So, I don’t know.”

It’s surprising how hard it is to articulate, but there’s just something there that won’t allow her to brush it aside. She never really had to think about this before, and now that the curtain has been pulled back on the prospect, she isn’t sure she likes the image. 

Andrea looks at her again, a sheepish, almost guilty smile on her face. It’s the same one she’d get in high school whenever she would try to tell a lie. Lena knows all her tells, even after all this time. She just isn’t sure this is a particular tell she wants to know. 

“So this isn’t a hypothetical at all,” Lena knows the answer, but needs to hear Andrea say it. “You came down here to tell me you made out with my ex-girlfriend...who just so happens to be the CFO of my company.”

“Um--” Andrea starts, wringing her hands. “Sort of?” The defensive way Lena refers to Sam as her ex-girlfriend sends an unpleasant jolt through her chest. Despite her guilt, Andrea feels the jealousy begin to bubble over, and she has very little hope of containing it. 

“Sort of?” Lena repeats. This whole conversation is starting to veer in a direction she was not prepared for. She’s feeling a bit wild, on the verge of losing it completely. She takes a steadying breath, reminding herself of where she is. This is work, after all. To any prying investors, Andrea is supposed to be here for business. And yet.... 

“She came onto me,” Andrea drawls, sounding bored, and Lena’s eyes snap to attention. She stares at Andrea, silently _forcing_ her to say she’s joking. “But it didn’t go anywhere, really. I didn’t let it.” Andrea shrugs, casually, picking up her fork and stabbing at her salad like the lettuce leaves are the ones telling egregious lies. 

“Mm,” Lena says, sitting back, a wicked intensity to her eyes as they scour Andrea for any evidence that she could be lying. “Interesting.” 

“It didn’t mean anything,” Andrea quickly assures her. She glances up at Lena’s face. “You know how it is. Drunk make outs are different kinds of make outs, right?” Andrea wrings her hands a little, looking away from Lena’s face. Sticking it to Sam isn’t as fun as she thought it might be, but it’s too late now. She just has to be patient. “I just wanted to be honest. I didn’t want you to find out and then think I was keeping it from you.”

“No,” Lena says, forcing a smile into place. “No, of course not. That makes sense. And I’m fine. I’m just...surprised, that’s all.”

“I don’t like her or anything, don’t worry,” Andrea scoffs at that. “We barely talked, actually. It was just like, I don’t know. We were drinking, and one thing led to another…”

“Right,” Lena says softly, feeling a bit like her entire body is deflating. She doesn’t know what to make of this story -- this confession? -- but she can’t process it all while Andrea is still staring at her. She tries to brush it aside, smiling as she says, “Well, I guess I’ll have to keep an eye on you two the next time you’re both at the same event.”

Andrea grins at that, an “Oh, Lena,” smirk that Lena realizes in context, isn’t as endearing as it used to be. 

The rest of their lunch goes by smoothly, or at least, Lena is fairly certain it does. She isn’t paying much attention. She’s dwelling on the fact that while Andrea’s story makes sense, it doesn’t sit quite right for so many reasons she doesn’t want to detangle right now. Those conferences are a breeding ground for chaos, and Lena _knows_ it, but something about the idea of Sam stalking around and trying to hit on women lights her up inside. And not in a good way.

The other thing that sits heavy on her conscience is Andrea’s comment about drunk make-outs. Sure, they are different from sober ones in a lot of ways, but Lena remembers being on the receiving end of many a stolen drunk kiss from Andrea back in high school, and they ended up being very _real_. So by that definition, these kisses are threats, and she isn’t sure which one of them is going to hurt more from it. 

“I’m really glad we got to do this,” she hears Andrea say a bit later, and she shakes herself to try to focus. “I really miss you, Lena.”

Typical Andrea, with her ability to drop a bomb and walk away with a smile. Lena feels rattled, and entirely unsure of anything anymore, but she doesn’t want to let on that she’s absolutely _dying_ inside. Instead, she does what she always does, and offers a brave smile back.

“I miss you too, Drea,” Lena says softly, and she means it a little, and she doesn’t mean it a little. Maybe this was all a huge mistake. Then again, maybe this is a truth she really needed to hear. 

Both are horrible in their own way. 

Andrea knows she’s probably ruined everything with her big mouth, and her need to constantly one-up Sam, but it still feels good to be in Lena’s presence again. She feels guilty lying, but she can’t help but try to take Sam down a peg or two in Lena’s eyes-- just so they’re a bit more even. Otherwise, Andrea knows she doesn’t have a chance in hell. So she may have to take a hit in the short term in order to come out ahead. That’s fine. 

They share a hug goodbye and a promise to do lunch again soon, and Andrea promises she’ll call. Lena is barely out of the elevator before she whips out her phone, suddenly too angry to even see straight. 

“Hey Lena, can I call you back? I’m just about to go into a meeting--” Sam’s voice grates against her nerves and Lena snaps. 

“Cancel that meeting and get your ass to National City _right now_.”

She hangs up before Sam can even reply. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sam flies to national city only to be confronted by an angry lena, who isn't acting entirely in a professional capacity. furious and reeling, she seeks out andrea rojas for an explanation...and more, naturally.
> 
> things feel different this time around, and sam is left wondering... what the actual fuck is going on?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this just feels like the totally natural progression of how this would play out, i don't make the rules  
> oh wait yes i do  
> enjoy! :)

The flight to National City is absolutely endless, even with the exclusive access to one of L-Corp’s private jets. It’s a luxury Sam normally revels in, indulging in the free mimosas regardless of the time of day just because she can. But not on this trip. This time, her leg bounces repeatedly from coast to coast. She curses the slow moving wi-fi and rolls her eyes as her text messages to Lena go unanswered. She stares forlornly out the window at nothing but endless gray as they cut through the clouds, her mind whirring with all kinds of reasons for this impromptu request.

Lena sounded the kind of angry she’s only been one or two times _ever_ , and neither of those incidents had anything to do with Sam. To say she’s slightly terrified would be an understatement; the silent treatment is making every fear of hers grow three more heads. There's nothing worse than a Luthor scorned, or so she's been told.

When she finally lands it’s already past 10pm, even with a few hours given back due to the time change. She doesn’t bother calling, since Lena clearly isn’t feeling particularly chatty right now. Instead, she directs her driver to head straight for Lena’s condo. 

She pushes the bell and shifts uneasily from left to right, her weight shifting with each passing thought about how Lena might not even let her inside. When she’s finally buzzed upstairs, and the door finally opens, Lena appraises her with the kind of inquisitive stare she might give to her newest project -- one that isn’t going particularly _well._ She simply nods her head and extends an arm inside, indicating that it’s okay for Sam to enter.

“Jesus Christ, Lena, I’ve been texting you for hours!” Sam declares without a hello, bursting into Lena’s apartment feeling completely frazzled. “Where’s the fire?”

Lena doesn’t respond right away. Instead, she slowly -- _painfully_ so, like she’s making a point of dragging this out -- walks away from Sam and toward her wine cooler. She produces a bottle and offers it with a silent gesture, a single invitation that Sam knows better than to challenge. Her hair is down and wavy, which never, ever happens and probably means something _awful_. Lena is always put together, known to wear her Louboutins even in the house because she believes in being productive until the very last minute. Tonight, she’s loose and unkempt, sporting a cozy sweater and jeans, her feet bare against the cold tile of her kitchen, which sends an altogether uneasy jolt through Sam’s core. 

Sam hesitates for a split second before nodding at the wine. She knows she can’t resist on a good night, let alone a night where she’s flown across the country at Lena’s request. She relaxes her shoulders, giving in just a little.

“I don’t think you had me cancel our investor meeting for a drink,” Sam tries, taking the wine glass and swirling it around slowly before she takes a sip. A full bodied red, just the kind she likes. Lena always had _great_ taste in wine. “Oh, but that is _good_.”

The velvety liquid sashays down her throat, landing pleasantly and calming her entire body, to the point that Sam almost forgets that there’s tension between them. Lena smirks at that, silently sipping hers with closed eyes. “Thanks for coming,” she finally says, opening her eyes and fixing an apologetic smile on her face. 

Sam smiles back as friendly as she can, all things considered. It doesn’t help that Lena’s apartment is more cheerful than she remembers an apartment of Lena’s _ever_ looking -- that is to say, there are actually a few pieces of furniture and a fireplace, which is a significant upgrade from her Metropolis days. It feels welcoming and almost permanent, which tugs at Sam’s heartstrings just a little too much for comfort.

And then there’s Lena herself. She looks so _good_ , it can hardly be considered fair right now. Even though Lena prefers to keep her bulletproof armor on at all times, in the form of tight fitting skirts and business formal attire, Sam will always have a weakness for _this_. Lena, unmasked, looking even younger than when Sam first met her, the weight of the world shifting off her shoulders for just one glorious moment. When she thinks of the Lena she had and lost, this is the version her heart stumbles over. But they’re not here for nostalgia or sentimental conversation. They’re here for something serious. Sam almost wishes Lena _had_ greeted her with her boardroom best-- her sharp blazers and tightly pulled hair -- because then at least she could prepare her defense. But gentle, at-home Lena is absolutely impossible to push away. 

Sam takes another sip of wine to try to clear her thoughts. 

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m thrilled to see you, but if you’re really just having me over for some wine, a video chat would have been enough.”

Lena shrugs her off and directs them to her couch. Sam sighs as she follows, throwing her coat over a bar stool and depositing her bag in a chair before sitting next to her. Lena continues to stare at the liquid in her glass, refusing to meet Sam’s face. It strikes her how _awful_ she feels now that Sam is here, staring at her with those deep brown eyes full of anxiety and concern. She wishes she was anywhere else, doing anything else. She wishes Sam was just here because she wanted to be, like old times, before Lena had to go and ruin everything.

Sam allows them to sit in silence for a few seconds before she breaks. 

“Lena, what’s going on?” Sam asks softly. She puts her glass down on the coffee table and tucks her leg underneath her other as she sits back down. She touches Lena’s thigh. “Are you-- okay?”

Lena purses her lips and nods, which Sam knows is a lie. She looks away and tries to keep herself from crying. When she composes herself she finally asks, “Why didn’t you tell me about Beijing?”

“We already debriefed on that--,” Sam replies gently, her head cocked to the side in confusion. 

“I mean the extracurricular activities.” 

“The bar tab? Is that really an issue here?” Sam chuckles at that, shaking her head. She pulls her hand back slowly. “I’ll cut you a check. You’re getting cheap on me, Luthor.”

She nudges Lena a little with her shoulder, but Lena doesn’t smile. She seems to deflate, and Sam frowns. 

“You know what I’m talking about,” Lena says, her eyes fluttering up to catch Sam’s briefly before she focuses back on her wine. 

“Ok,” Sam nods slowly. “I actually don’t, but I feel a little bit like I’m in the principal’s office here.”

Lena’s jaw clenches several times, the small muscle rippling against the perfect sculpture of her cheek and Sam’s throat goes dry. She can tell Lena is _seething_ , she practically feels it reverberating off her as she sits there. She wishes she would just _say_ what she means and get it over with, but clearly it’s something big or Lena would be more direct.

“When were you going to tell me about Andrea?” Lena asks so low Sam almost thinks she heard her wrong. 

“Andrea?” Sam’s heart starts to pound. “What about her?”

“Your...escapades?” Lena’s eyebrow shoots up accusingly. 

“My--” 

It dawns on Sam exactly why she’s here and suddenly her entire body feels cold. She wrings her hands awkwardly and then reaches for her wine glass before deciding against it. She studies her hands as if they’re the most interesting thing in the room. “Oh.”

“I don’t pay you to pick up women,” Lena says sternly, her voice deep and direct. She leans forward and places her glass down -- hard. Sam recognizes the tone. This is the tone Lena uses when she’s about to slice someone apart with her words, and Sam braces for it. “I especially don’t pay you to pick up _rivals_.”

“That’s a loaded statement,” Sam retorts, feeling defensive. “You pay me to play nice. Weren’t those your words?”

“Don’t patronize me.”

“She’s not my boss,” Sam emphasizes. “This isn’t a conflict of interest.”

“No, she’s not,” Lena agrees. “But I _am_ , and this is a real slippery slope.”

“Are you going to _fire_ me?” Sam crosses her arms, daring Lena to _go there_. She feels bad for betraying Lena’s trust, if that’s even what it can be called at this point in their twisted and out of bounds relationship. But either way, she absolutely will not allow herself to be raked over the coals for something that isn’t technically against the rules. Maybe it was shitty behavior on her part, but Lena doesn’t have a right to come at her. Not anymore. Not after...everything. 

“No,” Lena says quickly. She frowns, almost like she’s reconsidering. Sam watches her intensely. “No, nothing like that,” Lena says a little softer, backing off. 

“Then what the fuck is going on?” Sam asks, exasperated. “I never even wanted to _go_ to that stupid thing. But you asked. And you know how those things are! So I had some fun. Sue me.”

“I know, and I appreciate you going in my place,” Lena replies, sounding exhausted. “And yes--” she looks pointedly at Sam. “I know how those things are. But I just don’t understand why you didn’t tell me what happened.”

“It never came up,” Sam says, shrugging. Lena’s mouth hangs open as she rolls her eyes, clearly not amused with that excuse. But Sam is adamant. “When would I have told you? During the status meeting? Oh, hey, Lena, here’s the quarterly earnings report, we beat the projections, and by the way, I fucked Andrea Rojas? Like, that’s not exactly a workplace conversation.”

Lena coughs down the ill-timed sip of wine she had just taken, wiping her mouth slowly. 

“ _Excuse_ me?” 

“What?” Sam asks, confused. 

“What?!”

“Wait,” Sam says, frowning. “Are we _not_ talking about the thing with Andrea?”

“You had _sex_ with Andrea?”

“I’m--” Sam’s mouth gapes. “Isn’t that what we’re talking about?”

“Since _when_!?”

“Lena, I’m getting a headache.” Her head is pounding from a day of stress and from Lena absolutely talking her in fucking circles. “What is going on? Why am I here?”

“I had lunch with Andrea yesterday,” Lena confesses, giving Sam a knowing sideways glance. 

“I mean, I gathered that much.”

“And she told me how you came on to her--,” Lena’s voice trails off, and the disappointment cuts through Sam like a knife. 

“How I--,” Sam interrupts herself, nodding. Of course this would all turn into a fucking nightmare. Nothing with Andrea and Lena could ever be easy. “Mhmm.”

“So now you’re telling me you had sex with her?” 

Sam nods in uncomprehending circular motions, unsure of how to answer that. Lena’s eyes look like saucers as she stares at her, like she’s waiting for Sam to tell her she’s kidding. 

“Apparently I’m just that much of a seductress,” Sam intones as sarcastically as her voice will allow her. Lena’s jaw clenches. “Lena, obviously I didn’t come on to her! The whole thing was-- weird. But it was also completely mutual. We were a million miles away, drinking overpriced tequila, and Andrea is _a lot_ to handle, even with a pleasant buzz. I don’t know, I just didn’t think about it much. Besides, she’s the one that flew to Metropolis, for fuck’s sake!”

“She flew--,” Lena scowls, pausing a brief moment to consider. “You mean it happened _twice?_ ”

“God, this is so stupid--”

“Yeah, I’ll say!”

Sam stands up and immediately starts pacing. Anything to keep in motion while she tries to catch up with her thoughts. She stares harshly at Lena. “Lemma ask you, are you mad at me as your CFO or your ex-girlfriend? Cuz it feels a little blurry right now.”

Lena doesn’t know what to say. She hangs her head and stares at the floor, shaking it slowly. She seems sad and defeated, and Sam _almost_ breaks. “I don’t really know,” she admits, softly. 

Sam walks over to the kitchen island and stares at it, contemplating what to make of this entire disaster. Apparently Andrea felt the need to run off to Lena the first second she could, and at the same time, she decided telling the whole truth wasn’t quite appropriate. She isn’t sure if that was on purpose, or how it all came about, but none of it feels right.

Sam could _kill_ Andrea. The anger ripples through her body, hot and violent as she takes a breath. She tries to push it aside -- she’ll deal with _that_ later. But Lena’s reaction is something else entirely. She’s clearly upset, but Sam doesn’t know _why_. She selfishly hopes that it’s jealousy, but she isn’t entirely sure which one of them Lena is jealous of. She also doesn’t know what she’ll do if she finds out. 

Not that it really matters, anyway. Even if Lena _is_ jealous, she won’t admit it, not in a million years. Anytime Sam tries to talk about anything remotely associated with their past relationship, they can hardly make any progress without Lena getting defensive and Sam getting too emotional. It’s a complete disaster, so they both avoid it entirely. 

“I didn’t even think you two liked each other,” Lena finally says from somewhere behind her.

“We don’t!” Sam turns around with her arms open, her palms up like she’s got no cards left to play. “That’s the thing--” Sam shakes her head. “She’s kind of mean, honestly.”

Lena chuckles for a second at that, nodding a little before her face returns to somber disappointment. Sam’s chest aches. “That didn’t stop you, though.”

“No, it didn’t stop me.” Lena’s eyebrows furrow. Sam grits her teeth. She hates that Lena is sulking, and that she’s the cause of it, but she has to stay strong. This isn’t fucking _fair_. “No offense, but I don’t have to clear it with you. I’m single, remember? You made sure of that.”

Lena flinches, and Sam bites her lip to keep from apologizing at the harsh blow.

“That’s not fair and you know it.”

“Ok,” Sam shrugs. “Whatever you say.”

“Do you think it’s going to happen again?”

Sam hesitates, because the truth is, yeah, it probably will. Especially considering how fucking pissed off she is at Andrea, and how that tends to lend itself to other activities besides just a good solid argument. She doesn’t know what’s going on with them, but it isn’t fair that she should be asked to stop it from someone who doesn’t even want to _date_ her.

“Sam…” Lena says sternly. 

“I can’t answer that, and you shouldn’t be asking.”

Lena huffs at that, reaching for the bottle of wine. She pours a refill and doesn’t offer any to Sam. She sits coaxing her glass for a few minutes before speaking again.

“She lied to me, you know. She said it was just...a drunken make out, to quote her exactly.”

It seems significant to share _something_ with Sam about why this is a big deal, but Lena is trying to tread as carefully as possible. The truth is, there is so much more to this than she can even allow herself to feel. But on the surface, she knows she can bring this back to work. There are plenty of work related reasons why Sam fucking Andrea is a horrible idea. For one, she’s worried that no matter what Andrea says, she’s using Sam and planning something strategic. Nothing Andrea does is ever _simple_. And Lena knows better than to trust her -- she’s got several bad choices over several long years to back that up -- so it makes it impossible to brush this all under the rug. Ultimately, she’s afraid Andrea’s going to try to convince Sam to leave L-Corp. 

And that would only be the beginning. 

“I’m shocked. Andrea? Lying?” Sam rolls her eyes and Lena looks like she almost wants to smile. Sam relaxes slightly at that. “I’m not defending her, Lena. I hate that she lied, and also it’s really shitty that she tried to make me look stupid in the process. But at the end of the day, even still, it’s just sex.”

“What if it’s not?” Lena asks. “What if she wants something else? She’s going to try to get you to work for her, I can almost guarantee it.”

“I don’t want to work for her, Lena,” Sam says sternly. “She’d be a horrible boss.”

“I just think getting involved with her in any capacity is a bad idea. But I can’t tell you what to do,” Lena relents. She looks up and her eyes are glossy with tears she’s refusing to let fall. Sam swallows, staring at the ceiling as she tries to will any emotion from spilling out. 

“No, you can’t,” Sam finally says, stronger than she even expects it to sound. She twists her lips and brings herself under control before staring right back at Lena. “So draw up an NDA and I’ll sign whatever you want me to sign so you can sleep at night. But other than that, who I screw really isn’t your business.”

Lena stares back at her, eyes narrowed, her jaw clenched with anger. Sam can see her try to wrestle between absolutely flipping out on her, and using her calm, cool, indoor voice. Sam isn’t sure which one she prefers. This whole situation is so incredibly _fucked_ . She knew screwing Andrea was a bad idea, but of course, that didn’t _stop_ her. Now she has to face the consequences. And her consequences are an ex-girlfriend she’s still pathetically in love with, who now wants to _stop_ _this,_ and who still looks at her with such adoration that sometimes she wants to just scream about why it’s so _ridiculous_ that they aren’t together. But they aren’t together, and Sam needs to be okay with that. She wants Lena back in the worst way, but this isn’t how she wants it. She isn’t going to just follow her around like a puppy, doing her bidding and hoping one day it will be enough. 

It’s hysterical how completely unfair Lena is being. Sam actually starts to laugh at how _angry_ she is. 

“You know what? I got on a plane for you without even questioning it -- not for the first time, I might add,” Sam says, pointing at Lena. “But you can’t use me like this! I’m _done_ letting you do this. Figure out what you want-- what you _really_ want -- and get back to me. Take all the time you need. In the meantime, who I’m with or what I’m doing is really not your concern.”

“Then I guess we’re done here,” Lena says, sniffling slightly as she chews on the corner of her lip. Her face is impassive, but Sam knows she’s lit a fire. 

“Yeah, I guess we are.”

Lena’s mouth hangs open as she watches Sam with a look of complete shock, and something more that Sam can’t quite piece together. She reaches for her coat and her bag, and heads for the door. If she stays another minute, she knows she’ll fall apart.

“Thanks for the wine,” she says angrily, as she slams the door behind her. 

She reaches for her phone before she can even think and texts her assistant.

_Sam: Hey, it’s me. I need you to track down an address for Andrea Rojas._

xxx

Her assistant doesn’t get back to her until the next evening, which is just as well. She wouldn’t have had the emotional energy to stomp up to Andrea’s door after her chaotic conversation with Lena. The entire exchange still has her reeling, checking her phone far too many times than she’d like to admit. Lena is as stubborn as she is though, and neither one of them want to give up their position and break the silence first. 

Whatever. Sam doesn’t have anything more to say until Lena can get her shit together, so she’s perfectly fine to pretend like nothing is wrong.

She turns her attention to the address her assistant texted her. She’s surprised they were able to track down an address at all, honestly. But L-Corp is nothing if not filled with _too many_ resources, so she quickly pops it in her map and finds it’s within walking distance from her hotel. 

A phone number would have served her purpose, but she didn’t come all the way to National City to yell at Andrea on the phone. No, this kind of shit deserves a face to face visit, and Sam is altogether too happy to provide it. 

When she shows up at Andrea’s penthouse, she’s had an entire day to let the anger simmer, waiting for the smallest excuse to turn up the heat and let it boil. She can’t wait to fucking _unleash_. It feels like their entire little game has been taken to a new level, and Sam refuses to back down without a fight.

To her surprise, the security guard lets her right in once they call Andrea. She doesn’t know what she expected, but a fast, welcome reception is not necessarily it. 

Andrea runs a brush through her hair and checks herself in the mirror with a satisfied smirk. It isn’t that she was expecting Sam to come over, necessarily. But she knew there was a possibility that her lunch with Lena would have some fall out, one of which being a very angry, and slightly unhinged Sam Arias blowing up her phone.

The fact that she’s currently banging on her door? Well, it feels so fucking good to be _right_. 

“You have some fucking nerve!” Sam exclaims, marching in past her as soon as the door opens. She’s windblown and chaotic like a hurricane, and Andrea finds she isn’t prepared for how fucking _turned on_ the sight of that would be. It’s almost like she forgot how sexy Sam really is in the few weeks since they’ve been apart, and just seeing her in person reminds her why she was so excited at the prospect in the first place. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“Hello to you too,” Andrea says with a hint of airy laughter in her voice. She closes the door softly behind her and turns to follow Sam inside. “Didn’t know you were in town.”

“Wasn’t planning to be, but I got a really interesting phone call from Lena--,” Sam whirls around with an accusing stare that would physically hurt if looks could do such a thing. 

“Oh?”

“Cut the shit, Andrea,” Sam rolls her eyes. “You knew if you told Lena about us that it would get back to me. What I don’t understand is why you _lied_ to her. I came on to you? We didn't have sex? That’s rich.”

Andrea chuckles at that, shaking her head with a smile that Sam can’t decide if she wants to smack or kiss. She’s so unbearably attractive, especially when she’s being smug and rude, but God. Their chemistry is so _inconvenient_. 

“I may have embellished some details and skirted around others,” Andrea shrugs. “Who’s to say?”

“But you didn’t even tell her what really happened,” Sam crosses her arms in a deliberate challenge. “Either tell her or don’t, but this weird half truth makes no sense.”

“Doesn’t it?” Andrea coaxes, her eyebrow raising slightly. Sam’s heart skips.“ _She’_ s not pounding on my door to scream at me, now is she?”

Sam’s jaw hangs slack as she processes everything. Andrea, standing there, smug as all hell, not looking surprised in the least to see her. She realizes she’s been played, and has fallen right into Andrea’s lap, just as expected. She hates that she’s so predictable, and she hates that Andrea thinks she can have the upper hand by manipulating them all like chess pieces. 

“Listen--,” Sam says, exhaling slowly. She suddenly feels exhausted from the past few days. “From now on, leave Lena out of this. She forfeited her opportunity to be involved in this part of my life. You don’t get to give it back to her, got it?”

Andrea watches the way she deflates a little. There’s a sadness deep inside Sam that Andrea can almost _feel_ , and it surprises her that she actually cares. Well, she doesn’t _care_ , but she notices, and it makes this little game a lot less satisfying when someone is on the verge of a meltdown. She really thought Sam would just come and yell at her a bit, ratchet up the tension to a level 10, and then they would blow off some steam. She didn’t think it would be a whole emotional circus.

“You really _are_ sensitive, aren’t you?” Andrea says, crossing her arms to mirror Sam’s defensive posture. She wants to steer them away from sadness and back into anger. That she can handle. Other emotions? Soft emotions? Not so much. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sam asks, frowning. She notices the way Andrea is copying her movements, and she uncrosses her arms and runs her fingers through her hair. She’s feeling stressed out and anxious, and the fact that Andrea is grilling her with her terribly attractive eyes is not helping whatsoever.

“You act like nothing bothers you,” Andrea says, shrugging. “You’re so relaxed all the time, which is crazy to me, considering our business, considering...everything.” She gestures vaguely around. “But you’re not really, are you?” She takes a few steps closer so she’s standing more in Sam’s space. “You’re a romantic. You’re _hopeless_.”

Sam feels her lips tremble, but she manages to stare Andrea down. Neither of them blink, until Sam finally gives in. Her eyes burn with the challenge, and from the strain of keeping her emotions in check. 

“I have feelings,” Sam says quietly. “I’m not just a fun machine.”

Andrea smirks at this. “You’re soft.”

“And what about you, Andrea?” Sam retorts, taking a step forward and forcing Andrea back. She feels the rage begin to churn in her stomach. “You act cold and heartless because you’re too afraid to actually feel something.”

Andrea’s eyebrow ticks up and her lips twist just enough to emphasize their softness, and _fuck_. “Is that so?”

“You’re _weak_.”

“Is that supposed to hurt?” Andrea scoffs, like it’s the most amusing thing in the world. She regards Sam for a moment, studying the curve of her jaw, and distracting herself by thinking of all the places she wants to sink her teeth into later. 

Sam sighs, exasperated. “I don’t know why I even bothered.” She waves Andrea off as she looks around, trying to determine if she’s got enough guts to leave. 

Sam turns away from her and stews over that for a moment, taking in the surroundings of Andrea’s place for the first time. It’s warmer than Lena’s -- Andrea has gone a step further with her decorating to actually include some art on the walls -- but it’s still sorely lacking in personal touches. No framed photographs, nothing hanging on the fridge. There isn’t even a stack of mail placed somewhere haphazardly on a counter, which Sam finds completely unsettling. In fact, the only items slightly out of place are the fruit bowl on the counter which seems to be filled with the perfect arrangement of just-ripe bananas, four apples and two oranges, and a few dishes drying in a rack that might mean this kitchen gets used from time to time. 

She turns back to make a sarcastic comment about Andrea’s invisible cleaning staff, or something overly critical about her kitchen table that stays perfectly set for 4, when they both know she’s the only one inhabiting the place. Instead, the words lodge in her throat and she’s hit with the overwhelming presence of Andrea herself, as if she just appeared in the room for the first time. In all her rage, Sam didn’t get a chance to _really_ take her in, in all her late-night stay at home glory, and what a mistake _that_ turned out to be. Andrea is dressed in a cozy knit sweater and leggings, her hair pleasantly wavy and impossibly soft, framing her face at just the perfect angle that Sam almost wonders if she has her own personal stylist hiding somewhere upstairs. She’s leaning against the wall opposite from Sam, her face serious, but soft in the absence of make up. Sam bites her lip, mostly to keep from groaning at how _gorgeous_ she is just existing in the room like it’s _normal_. 

Andrea catches Sam’s eye and frowns, the arousal pulsing through her entire body to the point of no return. She can tell Sam is sizing her up, her eyes deep and penetrating as she challenges her from across the room. She steps forward with a graceful pounce and takes satisfaction in the way Sam’s breath hitches.

“Go ahead. Take it all out on me,” Andrea dares her, getting up close and personal with her stance. One more step and there would be no separating them at all. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

“That’s not--,” Sam pauses, fumbling. She’s still so angry, but the feeling is mixed with the strange coil of desire that seems to weave and twist through her anytime Andrea looks in her direction. She stiffens and tries to appear tougher than she feels. “I came here because you really fucked me over.”

“Yeah okay,” Andrea scoffs. “If that’s the only reason you came, you would have called.”

“I don’t have your goddamn number,” Sam says through gritted teeth.

“A sorry excuse,” Andrea waves her off with a grin. “Any teenager with a laptop could have found it.”

“And you’re proud of that?” 

“I have security.” With a teasing smile she adds, “But if you play your cards right, I’ll give it to you before this night is over.”

“I don’t _want_ \--”

“Of course you do.”

Sam’s jaw snaps shut at that. She’s furious, but still annoyingly impressed at the way Andrea so confidently steers their conversation, swerving around the uncomfortable potholes and placing them on a much more desirable path. The sparring feels better than it should, and Sam feels like she’s accomplishing _something_ \-- even if that something just means reveling in the fact that Andrea wants her as bad as ever. 

She thinks of Lena, inexplicably and as inconveniently as always, and a cold feeling settles in her gut. This would be in direct conflict with everything Lena requested from her, and Sam _knows_ it. It isn’t just an unspoken awkwardness anymore; the truth is out there, and Sam feels the guilt already starting to claw its way into her head. But, on the other hand, Lena has no _right_ to control this narrative. She has no claim over Sam anymore and to act out of courtesy to her would be doing a great disservice to how far she’s come. Besides, nothing would convey that message clearer than getting back at Lena for driving her away in the first place. 

“I fucking hate you right now,” Sam says, staring at Andrea, and talking to more than just her.

Andrea licks her lips and smirks. “That’s no different than any of the other times.” She turns away and heads down a hallway, disappearing into a room for several minutes. Sam can hear her rummaging in drawers before she returns, holding a strap with a wicked smile. 

“There,” she says. “Use this.”

Sam eyes it skeptically, her body temperature skyrocketing at just the idea of using a strap to fuck Andrea senseless. 

“It’s new,” Andrea insists after a few beats of silence. She rolls her eyes. “I’m not fucking tacky.”

Sam scoffs, feeling the cool silicone in her hands. She bites her lip, playing the consequences against her desire, back and forth, as if she has some sort of control over this situation. Andrea watches her, before turning on her heel abruptly.

“Figure out what you want to do, I’ll be in my bedroom.”

Sam watches the way Andrea saunters, slowly and deliberately down the hallway. It lights a fire deep in her chest as her attraction and anger rages out of control. She takes a deep breath and follows confidently, ready to give Andrea exactly what she asked for. 

She pauses at the threshold, taking in the massive room in front of her. Andrea’s bedroom is _perfect_ for this, actually, and that drives Sam over the edge. Her huge, overly expensive California king bed with cream colored Egyptian cotton sheets is so sensually inviting, Sam wants to scream. The lighting is dim, and cozy, supplemented by the fantastic skyline view provided by the floor to ceiling windows. Sam looks out over National City, feeling like both the luckiest and stupidest woman in the world. She’s up in this expensive penthouse condo, with one of the sexiest and most powerful women in the city, about to fuck her senseless. It kind of makes her head spin if she thinks about it too much. She turns back and eyes Andrea, who is lazily lounging against her pillows, with a coy, sinful smile and a knowing look in her eyes. 

She reaches over and grabs a remote, hitting the button without a word. The shades draw slowly, automatically closing as Andrea looks back at her, satisfied.

Sam doesn’t smile. Instead, she just continues to stare her down with an unreadable expression. It causes Andrea’s stomach to flip, because she’s so _serious_ that it’s almost scary. She pulls down her pants and pulls on the harness, tightening it with firm tugs. Her eyes never leave Andrea’s as she gets settled, and it would be unnerving if Andrea didn’t want her right fucking now. 

She watches Sam toss her shirt aside and stand in front of her in all her glory, her eyebrow raised slightly.

“Well?” she asks, exasperated, and Andrea wants to say something to take the power back, but her knees are weak and her mouth is dry, and _fuck_. Sam Arias better kill her, because there’s no coming back from this. 

“You’re shockingly jacked,” Andrea murmurs instead, studying the sharp crest of her hip bones, the way they stand out sculpted below toned abdominals. “What are you, a secret superhero?”

“Crossfit,” Sam rolls her eyes.

Andrea maneuvers her sweater over her head slowly, pausing so Sam can take in the fact that she isn’t wearing a bra. She watches Sam swallow, her throat bobbing, and she feels the heat between her thighs. That’s right, she thinks, smirking to herself. I was ready for this. 

“You’re not entirely out of shape either,” Sam consents. Andrea revels in the way her pupils dilate as she drinks her in. 

“Running.”

“You did this on purpose,” Sam grunts, shaking her head. She takes a few steps before climbing slowly on to the bed. 

Andrea shrugs, watching her come closer. “Maybe I’m just taking advantage of a situation.”

“Maybe I am too,” Sam pushes back. Andrea doesn’t blink as Sam pulls herself closer. She can practically feel the heat coming off Sam’s body, her breaths ragged and sharp as she grits her teeth and manages to hold Andrea’s gaze. 

Andrea doesn’t wait. She’s done waiting. Ever since she let their little secret tryst slip to Lena, she’s been pacing in her house like a caged tiger searching for release. She knew Sam would come here, she knew she would be pushed to _do_ something. But the satisfaction of being right is quickly fading, replaced by the absolutely crippling desire to be _fucked_. 

She pulls Sam in and kisses her, but before she can establish a rhythm, Sam pushes against her and takes over-- it’s angry, rough, and something else. Something feral, like Andrea has just unleashed a monster. She lets it take over, succumbing to Sam’s ruthless dominance with ease. Andrea wants it more than she even expected, and now with Sam’s mouth on hers and her hands running up and down her body, she’s powerless to stop it. 

It isn’t going to go slow, and Andrea knows it. Sam is already pulling her leggings off, clawing at them so aggressively that they rip off her body. Andrea groans at her strength -- it’s like she doesn’t even have to try. 

“You owe me for those,” she breathes against Sam’s lips, only to be met with teeth.

“Add it to my tab,” Sam snarls, nipping at the corner of her mouth and licking down to her neck. 

It’s overwhelming and intoxicating to be taken like this. She doesn’t know how Sam manages to turn into something so _much_ \-- like as soon as Andrea touches her, she flips a switch and knows exactly how to handle her. She goes from calm and easy to unchained in an instant, and it’s _powerful_. Andrea doesn’t think anyone has ever impressed her more, which is saying something. It’s unfortunate that it happens to be Sam Arias who can play her like a fucking instrument, but she’s willing to forget about that fact while in the throes of it. Sam simply knows what she wants, and how to do it without being told, which is a gift. Andrea doesn’t have time to draw a fucking diagram. And that’s why she needs to keep Sam coming back for more. 

Sam smells like expensive cologne and a desperate anger, a combination that’s absolutely sinful. Andrea breathes it in and nips at her ear, her tongue licking at the sensitive spot of her lobe that she now knows drives Sam wild. 

“Mmm fuck,” Sam breathes, losing herself for a second. Andrea mentally calculates the win. 

Before she can toy with her any more, she feels Sam’s hands place more pressure against her hips, pushing her down firmly. She spreads her legs silently, allowing Sam’s fingers to start teasing. It doesn’t take much for her body to react. Her heart is pounding in her chest and she feels how wet she is against Sam’s touch. She clenches her jaw and tries to hold it together so Sam can actually do what she came here to do. She refuses to give in so soon -- she isn’t going to give Sam that kind of satisfaction.

Get it together, Andrea, she tells herself, trying to focus. Sam’s arms flex as she drags her fingers slowly upwards, and Andrea inhales sharply. Christ, she’s so _attractive_ , Andrea wants to scream about it. 

Sam pauses with a smirk, and Andrea watches her with curiosity. She pulls her fingers to her mouth and licks, watching Andrea for a reaction. She doesn’t want to give it, but she’s forced to bite her lip to keep from groaning. Sam chuckles with a throaty husk, and then returns her focus to the strap. She starts teasing Andrea’s entrance with the head, pushing only slightly as Andrea’s eyes flutter closed.

“Tell me you want it,” Sam orders, and Andrea’s eyes snap open.

She tries to resist, keeping her mouth closed. 

Sam pulls away, her eyes wide in warning. It’s a power play and Andrea knows she’s going to lose. But instead, she grabs the top of the harness and yanks Sam forward roughly.

“Fuck me, right now,” she demands, her legs spread and wanting. “Like your life depends on it.”

Sam smirks at that.

“Turn around then,” she husks, and Andrea feels the desire pool deep in her belly. She obeys quietly, turning over on her knees and spreading her legs. She leans back enough to feel the strap behind her. Sam pushes her head down into the mattress, and Andrea doesn’t resist. She feels the way Sam’s fingers work her, stroking and teasing against her wetness, before pushing inside, plying expertly to make sure her body is ready. Her moan is muffled as she grasps the sheets, inhaling sharply as Sam pulls out and replaces her fingers with the strap. She pauses a moment before pushing fully inside her. 

Sam takes command, the way Andrea knew she would, and her hips drive the strap deep, so deep, that Andrea can hardly stand it. She arches her back and gasps as Sam settles into her. She feels Sam’s hands guiding her hips as she relentlessly pounds against her. It fills her up to the breaking point, but the speed and control Sam has over everything makes it fucking perfect. She lets Sam dictate the pace as she takes it over and over again. 

She feels Sam’s fingers curl in her hair, pulling sharply as she continues to fuck her, her hips slapping against Andrea’s ass with a satisfying smack. She hisses through her teeth at the pain of it all, from her hair being pulled to the rough way Sam fucks her. It’s so magnificent that she can’t even form a coherent thought beyond wanting more.

“Harder,” she directs, and she doesn’t care what Sam chooses to do with that. Unsurprisingly, she responds by picking up the pace with the strap and pulling her hair with more force, and it’s all Andrea can stand. 

After a few more strokes, Sam slows, pushing into Andrea at a deep, easy rhythm. It changes the entire feeling, and Andrea feels her legs start to quiver. 

“On top,” Sam says from behind her, and it’s less of a direction as it is a suggestion. She pulls out slowly and Andrea eases up off her knees in order to turn on her back. 

Sam slides up toward the pillows and switches places with Andrea, laying back as she waits for Andrea to get in position. Andrea watches Sam’s chest rise and fall, her skin glistening with exertion. Her brown hair is splayed out over the pillows and the coiling in Andrea’s stomach tightens. Just as she was feeling close to sated, she feels the desire ignite within her core, and all she wants is Sam to take her again. 

She gets on top of Sam and brackets her thighs. Sam easily positions the strap and Andrea starts rolling her hips and grinding down against it. She falls forward slightly, her hands on both sides of Sam’s shoulders, grabbing the sheets as she fucks herself against Sam’s hips. 

“Look at me,” Sam mutters, and Andrea isn’t sure she hears her quite right. She keeps her attention on the pillows. “Look at me,” Sam repeats.

Andrea frowns. “You didn’t want eye contact--”

“I don’t care what I said,” Sam says strongly. “Look at me.”

Andrea narrows her eyes and stares _through_ her, with a gaze as strong and impenetrable as steel. Sam almost wants to call it off as soon as it happens, but she finds herself melting into her glacial eyes, unable to look away as she continues to fuck her. 

“Fuck,” Andrea hisses, leaning closer. “That’s so good…”

“You’re so hot,” Sam slips, cupping her ass and pulling her desperately closer. Andrea moans, her eyes fluttering closed briefly. Sam’s mouth hangs open in awe as she watches what is quite possibly the best view of Andrea Rojas that she will ever get. When they open again, they’re as bright and wild as ever, and Sam’s entire body feels electrocuted.

She’s regal and ruthless, and close to unraveling, and Sam has never wanted anything more in her life. Andrea is stunning, and she knows exactly what she’s working with. Sam focuses on her hips, the way they arch and ride through every movement with impossible grace. Her mouth falls slightly open, her gorgeous lips mesmerizing as they taunt her. 

Sam leans up quickly and kisses her, surprised at the way Andrea kisses her back -- it’s deep, and intimate, her mouth forming into a smile as her tongue pushes into Sam’s. Sam loses herself in the hot, fiery feeling, until it becomes dangerous. She pulls back and tries to focus. 

“I’m close,” Andrea exhales sharply, “don’t you dare stop.”

Sam focuses on the way Andrea’s stomach flexes, and the outline of her throat as she moans, coming undone against Sam’s body. She holds her hips steady as she rides out her orgasm, keeping the pace consistent until they finally slow, breathing heavily against each other. 

Andrea doesn’t move right away. Instead, she collapses on Sam’s chest, the strap still inside her as they both try to catch their breath. It was another explosion, teetering close to an earthquake, and Sam already feels the emotions start to creep back into her mind. Her heart pounds against her chest as Andrea’s face buries into her neck. She pulls back after a few moments, and looks at Sam with a tired, almost gentle smile. 

“You surprise me,” Andrea says softly, and it’s as close to a confession as Sam has ever heard her admit. 

“So do you,” Sam replies, even though it doesn’t come close to articulating what she’s feeling. She doesn’t know _what_ she’s feeling if she’s honest, just that she’s more confused than ever, and there’s an inexplicable dam of tears welling behind her eyes that she absolutely cannot let fall right now. 

They stay entangled with each other longer than any of the other times. They don’t talk, which Sam is thankful for, but they lay comfortably against each other, without feeling the need to fill the silence. It’s almost worse, if Sam thinks about it too much. 

Finally, Andrea rolls over and dislodges herself from Sam, sighing as she does. Sam follows suit, quietly gathering her discarded clothing and trying not to feel like a piece of meat. 

When she’s dressed and heading for the door, Andrea follows her quietly. She taps her arm before she reaches the door. 

“Give me your phone,” Andrea says, her voice still throaty and deep, which makes Sam’s body feel warm and close to the edge. Sam frowns, but allows it. Andrea hits a few keys and then gives it back without a comment.

Sam glances down at the screen. She sees her initials -- AR -- and a number.

xxx

It takes several nights for everything to start to catch up with her. She goes back to Metropolis the night after her escapades with Andrea, slipping away silently without a goodbye to her or Lena. It feels necessary to get back to her own coast, as far away from the drama as possible. But, after a particularly long and annoying day at work where her inbox felt more like a game of whack-a-mole than something actually productive, Sam finds herself curled up on her couch, exhausted and emotional. The TV is background noise, a baseball game she doesn’t care about, and she finds herself spiraling, suddenly very needy and overwhelmed. It happens sometimes, those ugly feelings of abandonment creeping in and taking hold when she least expects it. Apparently, tonight’s the night they’ve decided to keep her company. 

She feels strange about everything going on in her life right now. Not all of it bad, but not all of it great, either. For as long as she can remember, when she closed her eyes at night, she would see a montage of her relationship with Lena: the cheerful, sappy moments that would press themselves permanently on her heart, reminding her that this, _this,_ was exactly what she had always wanted. When they were good, they were _great_. As close to perfect as things could get. Which is why it will never sit right with her that they let things slip away the way they had. Of course, they had their issues, and the bad parts of their relationship color the vision slightly, adding fuel to a fire that never fully died. Sam got used to missing the arguments, and the frustration, and the desperate feeling of longing, just because it was hers to have. She had all of Lena’s features memorized, and would see her eyes in fields of green, and her ivory complexion in the whirling flakes of snow. Lena was everywhere, she was in everything.

Until, one day, she wasn’t.

It doesn’t happen as suddenly as that, but Sam notices that nowadays when she closes her eyes, the memories are cloudy and faded. The montage of broken hearted scenes aren’t the first thing that come to mind anymore. Instead, she starts to see big blue eyes, and red hot fire, curling on the pouty lips of a sarcastic comment. 

She remembers how it feels to be around Lena, but when she thinks about kissing someone, her lips have Andrea’s pattern sewn into them. 

It isn’t supposed to be like this. She hates that she always has to take it _there_. Andrea is supposed to be simple -- or at least, a mutually beneficial arrangement. A contract, black and white. No feelings, beyond their shared distrust of each other. It isn’t supposed to be messy, teetering on the edge of too far, with Sam sitting home on a Thursday night lamenting her existence. But there’s a reason these things never work. It feels inevitable that this should end in catastrophe. 

She sighs, picking up her phone and casually scrolling through her social media for a distraction. She doesn’t go on very often, but she likes to scroll Instagram when she’s feeling particularly self-loathing. Her first order of business on this night, apparently, is to seek out Andrea Rojas. 

It doesn’t take much sleuthing. She types in her name and finds Andrea’s verified account - the one she uses as CEO of Obsidian. It’s all marketing and nonsense, very polished and corporate and probably not run by Andrea at all. She’s in a few of the pictures, but it’s the Andrea Sam really hates. The corporate, bitchy, fake version that the public loves to latch on to. The captions are all pre-vetted jargon and advertisements: Andrea with several of her associates, a pride flag in the background, declaring a happy pride month. Several marketing posts with slogans from various causes and foundations that Obsidian supports, like Climate Change and STEM for women. Sam scrolls a few more minutes, trying to hold on to this version of Andrea so she can get some peace.

If this is the only version of Andrea out there, then Sam can continue their dalliance without getting her heart in trouble. But she knows deep in her gut that this isn’t true. Andrea is complex: she’s layered, and messy, and brilliant, and there’s so much more to her than Sam can possibly begin to uncover. She’s only grazed the surface, and it’s already got her spinning. 

She doesn’t even really know how Instagram works but she’s pretty sure Andrea has a personal account somewhere. Lena finally got one, even though she hardly uses it. Sam takes a sip of wine and then goes to Lena’s private account, since she clearly hates herself tonight. She flips through the feed, feeling nostalgic. Lena doesn’t take a lot of pictures, but the ones that are posted are all perfect: her perfect face, and her perfect captions, all perfect, perfect, perfect. There used to be pictures of both of them on there, but they’re long gone now, deleted into some sad archive of heartbreak. She’s about to throw her phone across the room when she notices a familiar user name commenting on some of Lena’s recent pictures. 

_AR_1988: nice face, luthor._

And just like that, there she is. 

The account isn’t private, which would be surprising if it was anyone else. But somehow, that seems very Andrea. She wouldn’t want to do the expected, and she certainly wouldn’t want to hide when she can control a narrative. She’s there for all the world to see, charming and dazzling and unfazed, and Sam’s heart begins to pound.

There’s a picture of Andrea sitting outside on an Adirondack chair, the sun shining behind her as she grins over a mug of coffee. It’s scenic, surrounded by evergreens and blue sky, and she looks relaxed and domestic and almost gentle. Sam feels her hands get clammy. 

There’s another of Andrea in a black sports bra and spandex capris, her jacket tied around her waist, as she poses with a triumphant smile on the top of a mountain, at the apex of a hike. Sam’s mouth runs dry at the lines of muscle around her abdominals and the elegant lines in her neck, visible due to her hair being up. 

On and on it goes, each one more perfect than the last. 

Andrea in large sunglasses, smiling in the passenger seat of someone’s car.

Andrea dressed to the nines, holding a glass of wine, toasting to an evening out.

Andrea, fresh faced and sleepy in a tank top, her hair down and her lips insufferably soft, pouting at the camera.

Trips to Europe, to South America, to Asia. Parties and quiet nights, books and gardening, a few snaps of strange cuisines that she apparently cooked herself. 

Each picture is more sensual, more stunning, more intimate than the last, and Sam feels on the verge of an explosion.

This is the Andrea she’s starting to get familiar with, the one she doesn’t _entirely_ hate, and it feels intrusive to be staring at her without her knowledge. She feels guilty, like she’s doing something she shouldn’t. But it’s out there for anyone to stumble upon, so Andrea must know what she’s doing. And that’s what lights a fire in her chest. 

Who the _fuck_ does she think she is? 

She puts down her phone and closes her eyes. Well, you’ve gone and done it, she scolds herself. If you go looking for trouble, you’ll absolutely find it.

Then she decides. No, fuck it. She picks up her phone like she’s made a decision and she texts Andrea.

_Sam: hey.. it’s sam._

Within a few seconds, she receives a reply. 

_Andrea: took you long enough_

_Sam: how do i know you gave me a real number? you could be some random stranger._

_Andrea: guess you don’t know._

Sam takes another sip of wine. She starts to feel bold. 

_Sam: prove it?_

This time, a few minutes pass. She doubts Andrea will respond, which isn’t overly concerning, but doesn’t do much to help her mood. She’s about to put her phone away for good, until it buzzes. She opens the message and sees Andrea sent a picture. She’s laying in bed, her eyes hooded and low, her lips turned up in an exasperated ‘told you so’ grin. She’s only wearing a tank top and underwear, which is infuriating. Sam can see the corner of her hip and the top of her thigh, but the photo cuts off just before Sam can see her legs.

She’s so fucking hot, Sam wants to die a little. What did she expect, honestly? 

_Andrea: your turn. i have considerable less proof that it’s actually you, you know._

Sam glances down at herself. She isn’t really “selfie-ready”, whatever the hell that means. But with the right lighting, she can probably make something work. She tries several angles and finally settles on one where her face looks unimpressed, but definitely desirable enough. She thinks Andrea will at least suffer a little, which is the goal. 

She sends it, and she isn’t entirely sure what she expects. She knows Andrea isn’t going to just cave in and admit her attraction, or give her any hint of her feelings. Texting gives them both time to craft their answers, to be polished and coy and a little daring. It probably isn’t going to help her detangle the confusing situation she’s in with Andrea, but she can’t resist stroking the flame. Her phone buzzes.

_Andrea: yeah, it’s definitely you._

Sam chuckles, rolling her eyes at the blanket statement. She pictures Andrea in bed, pouting at her own phone, biting her lip and trying to come up with something crafty. It’s enough to make her feel like she’s accomplished something. 

Before she gets into bed, she decides to check Andrea’s instagram one more time, which is going to be a problem. But this is just the life she’s living now, she figures. Might as well lean into it. She notices a new post from a few minutes after she sent her selfie. It shows one side of Andrea’s bed --the side Sam was on, she notes, not sure if that’s significant-- with a single line caption of “lonely nights”.

Sam taps it twice, liking it just to let Andrea know she’s down to play the game. 

She turns her phone off, going to bed a little more satisfied than she thought she'd be. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sam and andrea continue their passive-aggressive social media flirtation, much to lena's HARD dismay. so, she decides to see if she can manipulate andrea into divulging her intentions, for old time's sake. of course, lena's too vulnerable to really get away with it, and the two of them have an emotional reunion. in the end, neither of them know what to do about sam. which is fine, because sam doesn't know what she wants, either. except andrea, in her bed, apparently. 
> 
> oh, sexy sexy calamity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no one asked but the title of the fic comes from sia's 'fire meet gasoline' which is like.. intensely beautiful and fits the vibe. one of my faves.
> 
> LOL at the fact that i really thought i was gonna do a hate sex one shot and leave it alone. now its...this. and now i'm in my feelings. so. here we are. this chapter was originally going to contain some other scenes, but each pairing really needs their own section within the backdrop of andrea-sam so...rojascorp, you're up! this also means ch 5 has a good start, because i cut a huge chunk and moved it. does that mean a faster update? who knows!! not me!!

Sam soon discovers that Andrea Rojas is just as beautifully frustrating from a distance as she is in person. They don’t text often, opting instead to vague-post on Instagram and like each other’s pictures at awkward hours of the night. It’s juvenile, but it keeps a wall between them that Sam feels is necessary. They’ve already crossed into weird territory, both skirting around the edge of feelings and intentions, and this is the only thing that keeps it from exploding too hot and too fast.

What are they? Fuck if Sam knows. They aren’t colleagues, they aren’t even counterparts. They’re not friends, and they’re certainly not dating. Enemies seem too strong, and acquaintances too broad. Fuck buddies? Too comfortable. She can’t put her finger on it, but they’re something, and it feels necessary to separate from everyone else. 

There’s still a fundamental distrust in Sam’s gut when she thinks about Andrea’s intentions for too long, but her previous hatred has cooled considerably. She knows Andrea is a conflict of interest in literally every possible way, personally, professionally, and otherwise. It also goes without saying that she’s public enemy number one when it comes to destroying her relationship with Lena -- both in recent days, and in the past. For all intents and purposes, Sam should feel violent, to the point of distraction, against her. Instead, she feels curious, and strangely powerful, knowing that Andrea is sitting somewhere across the country, taking time out of her day, to wonder about _her._

She holds her phone up to the mirror and snaps a picture. The strange surge of giddy confidence fills her like a horny teenager who doesn't stop to think before posting as she adjusts the filter for the best result. She just finished a workout, her arms sore and glistening with sweat under the fluorescent lights. She’s wearing a tank top that shows off her shoulders, and makes her neck look just the right kind of delicate and lean. Even though she’s normally pretty modest about sharing gym photos, she feels like it’s something that will get a rise out of Andrea, which makes it worthwhile. She doesn't smile, keeping it serious and intentional as she posts the picture, pushing it out of her mind as soon as she hits 'submit'.

Andrea doesn’t react until 1am, but this time she adds a comment - a single fire emoji that makes Sam’s stomach lurch when she sees it. 

The picture is smoldering, and Andrea clenches her phone in her hand a little too tight, grinding her jaw as she lays in bed staring. Sam Arias has some _fucking_ nerve to tease her like that, across the country, without a single whisper of an intent to do something about it. She loves the fact that Sam was curious enough to stalk her on social media, but now she’s just being cruel. It’s almost enough for her to call her up and dare her to put her muscles to good fucking use. Fucking A. How is she supposed to sleep now?

It’s annoying that Sam has always been objectively attractive. Even in Andrea’s worst moods, she can’t argue her way around that. She noticed her immediately, as soon as they crossed paths at a conference several years before. Sam, tall, lean and handsome, walking into the room with easy confidence and smooth charm, looking like she belongs in any setting. It’s horrible and intoxicating all at once. No one should be that good looking and accomplished, alright? Andrea shakes her head, glaring at the ceiling, feeling ten kinds of fiery and annoyed. 

Now, of course, this was before she put two and two together that Sam was the same Sam that had Lena on her back moaning out a name other than Andrea’s. Once she figured that out, instead of being royally pissed off -- which she was, by the way. _Royally_. But there was something else, too. Something deep in her soul that seemed to split apart just enough to be noticeable. A strange satisfaction, like if Lena had to be with someone else, at least it was someone so over the top perfect, it could hardly be argued. No matter how hard she tried, she understood why Lena would choose Sam. She's just _that_ put together and sexy and smart, or something. Andrea doesn't want to get carried away, but she gets it. And she isn’t someone who concedes a victory that easily, but Sam Arias is something she’s never encountered before.

The realization of Sam’s entanglement with Lena was-- and still is, if she allows it -- a punch to the stomach, and never gets easier to handle. But now she isn’t sure if she’s more sickened by the idea of Lena wanting Sam… or Sam wanting Lena. Without the Lena factor, and all it’s complications, Andrea would probably let Sam charm her, and she would have fun teasing her harmlessly in the process. They'd probably burn hot and fast, flaming out after awhile, once Andrea got it out of her system or Sam realized the type of person Andrea really is. It’s stupid that she can’t let go of everything between them and fully enjoy this, because she knows she would. Absolutely. But she can’t. She’s too stubborn and proud to let Sam take this victory, too. 

So she posts teasing photographs and sends vague text messages and acts aloof, while secretly plotting for ways to get Sam to undress her and take her over, and over, and over again. 

But this gym photo? That isn’t playing fair. 

She comments quickly. It isn’t overly planned, and it certainly isn’t careful -- they aren’t hiding this tentative arrangement from prying eyes, that’s for sure. But if Sam wants to flaunt their dalliance online, Andrea isn’t going to be the one to stop it. 

They go on like this for weeks. Andrea posts pictures of the sunset, and bottles of wine, and creates wistful captions that allude to loneliness and something just out of her reach. 

Sam sees them, and scrutinizes them, and sometimes can’t even bring herself to like them, because her heart feels torn in too many directions. Instead, she retaliates with moody captions, and dark-lit shadowy selfies, and Andrea sometimes texts her with “??” when it’s way past an appropriate hour for conversation. She doesn’t elaborate beyond the punctuation, and Sam doesn’t fall into the trap of engaging with her.

It stays mostly civil, until Andrea posts a picture of her and Lena having lunch one day, their heads angled together as they smile innocuously over salads, and Sam almost throws her phone through the window. 

That one feels deliberate and out of bounds. Sam seethes at the casual way Andrea dangles the one thing she has over Sam, moving her chess piece into a final corner and smirking at her brilliance.

It isn’t fair that she has to be the odd one out. That somehow, with all of this, she’s the one staring, yearning from a distance, while everyone else gets to just live. She presumes Lena doesn’t know the entirety of the situation, or she probably wouldn’t be caught dead smiling next to Andrea. Or maybe she does, and it’s only Sam she wants to hate.

So Andrea Rojas gets to have her cake and eat it too, and wave at Sam like she runs the world? No fucking way.

She closes the app and checks her e-mail, but nothing new comes to the top. There are a few old ones from Lena, but they’re all work related. These days she only e-mails -- never calls -- with business related affairs, and even then, she’s cold and distant. If there was a prize for being painfully direct and to the point, Lena Luthor would win in a landslide. And, with a masterful twist of the knife, when all of these tasks inevitably require a follow up, Sam has suddenly been downgraded in priority and forced to go through Lena’s assistant. Lena is pulling a power play, and she knows Sam recognizes it. But Sam isn't dumb. She doesn't fall for Lena's games, doesn't needle or pry into gleaning an explanation. It's her way of digging her heels into the ground. Normally, she'd reach out, offering reconciliation and the opportunity to fix whatever is shaken between them. But not anymore. Now, she lets their tension build, their frustrations stacked on both sides. And she takes pride in her own strength. Several months ago, letting this rift continue would be impossible, but she’s hitting a wall. She can’t be the only one willing to fix things, she can’t be the one always pushing down barriers and trying to get Lena to love her. Or admit why she can’t. Or admit that she does, but doesn’t want to. Or whatever it is that she’s thinking.

Which comes back to Andrea. Andrea is her own storm of chaos, but it isn't deep and all-consuming like Sam's past with Lena. It's surface attraction, and lustful curiosity, and when matched up against the heavy drama of trying to win back Lena Luthor, it's absolutely the more appealing option. She starts a text that she probably won't send, but gets interrupted by the exact person she is hoping to catch.

_Andrea: youre so stubobrn_

She's been drinking. She always starts texts as if they're knee-deep in a conversation already instead of easing into a topic carefully. It's a pattern Sam is slowly getting familiar with, even with their brief interactions. The other telltale sign is she's a little bold and doesn't always spell correctly. It's the only time she comes close to saying what she means. 

Sam's stomach flutters. 

_Sam: why?_

_Andrea: you know why_

Sam doesn't know how to respond to that. A few minutes later, another text.

_Andrea: come to me_

Sam's face feels hot, her heart pounding. She types back carefully.

_Sam: you’re drunk_

_Andrea: ...and?_

_Sam: might say something you regret_

_Andrea: just come to NC again… ill make it worth your time_

_Sam: ask nicely and i just might_

_Andrea: i dont beg_

She can picture Andrea, her eyes dancing with amusement, her smile big and insincere as she tries to put up a front. Sam rolls her eyes and snickers under her breath.

_Sam: if you’re serious, you’ll come to me_

_Andrea: see? stubborn_

_Sam: and?_

_Andrea: fine, maybe i will_

_Sam: you know where to find me_

Meanwhile, across the nation at the very top office at L-Corp, Lena spends another late night nursing a glass of scotch, and studying the particularly active Instagram feeds of her two ex-girlfriends. She scrolls idly, wondering when one of them is going to finally admit that this is spiraling out of control. She scowls as she thumbs over Sam’s page, with new pictures that are all glistening muscles and dark-lit selfies, things that would never be flaunted before. Her frown intensifies as Andrea's familiar instagram handle makes a consistent appearance in the comments, with suggestive emojis and one word posts that set Lena’s heart on fire.

\---

Somewhere between her second or third scotch, Lena decides to take matters into her own hands. This situation between Andrea and Sam is ten seconds from going nuclear, and if she sits on the sidelines any longer, it may go into irreparable territory.

To be fair: Lena isn't stupid. There may be -- there _are_ \-- some deep personal reasons why this claws at her gut in a sharp, jagged way, but that’s not what she’s going to focus on right now. She doesn’t need to wallow in her stupid, over the top, emotionally needy feelings. Nothing good ever comes from that. Instead, she’s going to focus on getting what she wants. And what she wants is to pull even with Andrea, to make her reconsider the errant idea that after all this time, she could possibly have the upper hand.

They’ve always been complicated. Lena can acknowledge that much. Their hot and cold, on-again, off-again relationship has always been the undercurrent of their friendship, even during their best times. And it's magnified during their worst. There's no denying that part of her will always, against her better judgement, love and care for Andrea Rojas. But that absolutely cannot be addressed right now.

The mission here is simple: Use over a decade of friendship homework to spin Andrea like a top. She may be sharp, snarky and polished, but underneath her armor, she’s gentle, soft, and kind, and Lena knows it. She’s familiar with Andrea’s vulnerable side, intimate even, because that's the side she fell in love with. That's the side Andrea showed to her and only her, when she was nothing but a stupid, neglected teenager who didn’t know the first thing about love but knew that Andrea was something _grand_. Getting back to that place would be catastrophic, but she wants to appear to repair their tenuous relationship with superficial niceties in order to keep tabs on what Andrea’s really up to.

This doesn’t fix the past. It doesn’t even really make them friends. But it’s a step in a different direction, one where Lena can finally have a say in their relationship, and by extension, keep hold over things that are _hers_.

So that afternoon, she walks into her former office at CatCo, Andrea’s new part-time spot, fully ready to be amenable. As she enters, she immediately notices some of the changes -- Andrea always had a flair for the dramatic, coloring any space she occupies for more than five minutes with bold strokes, intriguing art, and expensive fabrics. Lena eyes the abstract sculpture in the corner, trying to make heads or tails of it, but failing spectacularly. Andrea catches her eye and smirks, crossing her arms as she makes her way around her desk.

Her black dress is tailored to fit her like a glove, extenuating her neck and hugging her hips just enough to make you take note, but not enough to be over the top. Andrea always knew how to give just enough to leave you wanting. 

“Alicia Penalba,” she says, her accent sharp as she nudges her chin in the direction of the artwork. “A classic.”

“Yes, well, as you know, I didn’t take a semester of art history like you did,” Lena retorts, and Andrea simply rolls her eyes with a wry grin. She gestures to the couch in the middle of the office and Lena follows.

“I didn’t realize we had a meeting,” Andrea says, her eyebrows furrowing in perfect confusion. She picks up her phone and scrolls quickly before flicking a concerned look back to Lena. 

“We didn’t,” Lena shrugs, running her fingers over the quality leather. The couch is also new, and she’s annoyed with herself for not taking the time to make this office as fancy as Andrea has. Her last name is enough of a statement when she enters a position of power, she reasons. But Andrea actually uses her own personal taste to introduce herself. Lena feels proud of her, in a way, if not slightly jealous. “If it’s a bad time, I can go.”

She quickly remembers herself. Like her, Andrea probably has a full schedule and very little time to entertain surprise visits.

“Don’t be silly, of course you’re always welcome,” Andrea tilts her head and smiles, and it’s the rare kind that she gives when she's being genuine and warm. It's sort of surprising, that even now, she can just drop everything and be present. Lena feels her stomach twist with something more than regret. “Is everything okay?”

Lena nods. “You know, I just-- I don’t think CatCo is the only thing we can offer each other,” she says slowly as she watches Andrea’s face, searching for any clues of her feelings on the subject. “I know we danced around doing more business together while we let the dust from this contract settle, but now that we’re here, well--”

Andrea twists her lips slowly, appraising Lena carefully. “What did you have in mind?”

Lena positions it cautiously, outlining some of the technical resources L-Corp can provide -- mostly her brother's old research facilities, and patents to microchips and generators that she knows Obsidian desperately needs in order to compete with Lord. 

“I appreciate the offer Lena,” Andrea starts once Lena's finished with her proposal. Lena watches her pause. She glances sideways, chewing her lip slightly and attempting to choose her words. Lena's heart drops. She doesn’t need to know Andrea intimately to spot a rejection. There’s a heat in her chest that starts to swirl. “But our business relationship almost ruined us once. And I know--” Andrea holds up her hand, cutting Lena off before she can even interrupt, “I know that’s on me. But it almost destroyed us, and I can’t-- I won’t let that happen again. I just got you back--” she starts to say, before a dark look crosses over her face. She clenches her jaw and forces a smile. “I just really want to focus on getting back to where we were.”

“I understand.” Lena plasters a smile on her face. “And I get it,” she says quietly, slightly rattled that Andrea would really turn down an offer to make Obsidian the hands-down market leader in favor of their friendship. “Maybe just keep it in mind?”

“Of course,” Andrea says. “I really appreciate you coming here and offering to help. It means a lot to me."

Lena shrugs, pretending to be overly interested in the TV screens playing over Andrea's shoulder. She squints as she reads the headlines, making a mental note of the latest stock numbers to run by Sam later. The very thought makes her mouth run dry, and she quickly returns her attention to Andrea.

“How’s your father?” she blurts. It's the first thing she can think of to start to steer them away from business conversation. Andrea inhales and then lets out a sigh, her lips turning down slightly at the corners.

"Not great," she admits, shaking her head. She avoids Lena's eyes. "He's been in and out of treatment. It's worse...this time."

Andrea's father's health had been declining steadily over the years. Lena remembers back when they were close, before-- everything-- when Bernardo had his first bout of cancer. Andrea was a wreck, trying to balance all the stress of her father's business and juggling the fact that underneath it all, she was just a scared daughter trying to keep her family from crumbling. Lena could only throw money at the situation, which was always her de facto operating tactic. They managed to navigate, but it seemed like his health was always going to be a perpetual time bomb. 

“He’ll pull through,” Lena says as sincerely as possible, her hand tentatively hovering over Andrea’s knee. “He always does.”

Andrea’s fingers clasp over Lena’s, gentle and warm, and she nods with a sad smile. 

"Thanks," she says softly. "I hope you're right." She takes her hand back and reclines gracefully against the couch, allowing her arm to hang loosely over the top. Just like that, she's back in control, back to looking unbreakable. Lena swallows, hard. "Coffee?" she asks, and before Lena can answer, she presses a button and speaks emphatically to her assistant. 

"You still take it boring?" she asks, her eyes bright and teasing. Lena hates that it warms her heart the way she _knows_. 

"Without the fanfare? Yes, please," Lena confirms. Andrea has always been more adventurous, spiking hers with dashes of cinnamon or spiced milks, depending on her mood. Today is apparently a cinnamon day, which shouldn't be as comforting as it is.

“So what else has been going on?” Lena asks, trying to stay as casual as possible. She doesn't want to bring Sam up unless Andrea does, and she knows she won't without some generous prodding. 

Andrea shrugs, adjusting her watch along her wrist.

“Oh come on, you’re really not going to give me anything?” 

“I’m not that exciting, Lena,” Andrea chuckles, not taking the bait. She runs her fingers casually through her honey colored hair which seems lighter than normal, her neck tilting up so she can get a better look at Lena. She doesn't seem bothered at all that Lena's poking at her personal life. 

“The tabloids beg to differ,” Lena grins. “Andrea Rojas, shacking up with A-List movie producer Mercy Graves..." She trails off, quoting some seedy underground publication she happened across last night in a drunken stupor. "Careful with that one."

“Don’t tell me you read that trash,” Andrea’s eyes flash. She snickers, a wicked grin pressed across her lips. “At least stick to CatCo publications if you're going to check the entertainment beat,” she says evenly. "C'mon."

“Which will provide a completely non-biased view of your personal affairs, of course,” Lena jabs back.

“I didn’t realize I was front page news material," Andrea glowers at her, and Lena tries to chuckle away the awkwardness.

“You’ve always loved a bit of scandal,” Lena replies easily. Andrea's assistant returns at that moment to deliver coffee, giving them both a cautious smile before retreating. Lena reaches for hers, thankful for something to focus on besides Andrea's face. She leans forward. “Remember Russell?”

“I was 20!”

"And he was...not..." Lena drawls, recalling Andrea's shameless affair with the much older Russell Rogers, of Rogers Media fame. 

"It wasn't even like that," Andrea argues, her mouth hanging slightly open as she tries to skirt around the truth. "Okay, it was a little like that," she concedes, and Lena's stomach dips uncomfortably. "But you have to admit, I’ve always been a bit boring, especially compared to what the media prints about me. You know that better than anyone." Andrea chuckles quietly. "If anything, it’s gotten worse. All I do is work. And threaten the occasional board member, you know how it is.”

“Or the occasional date."

"I'm pretty sure that was you," Andrea teases. “How is Veronica, anyway?”

“Wouldn’t know, I blocked her number before we even left the restaurant," Lena snickers at the not-so-fond memory. “She was awful."

"You were too good for her," Andrea agrees, nodding. "Yeah, I'm done with dating."

“And done sneaking around making out with my CFO?” 

It slips before Lena can really control it, but she does her best to conceal her own surprise. Andrea coughs once, pursing her lips the way she always does when she’s hiding something. Lena’s stomach twists. 

“Oh come off it,” Andrea rolls her eyes, shaking her head. “You’re still hung up on that?”

“Are you?”

“No!" Andrea exclaims, her laugh a bit overly loud for the moment. "You're kidding, right?" 

Lena takes a long sip of her coffee, ignoring the question. 

"I'll admit, she’s not what I thought,” Andrea says thoughtfully. Her fingers run along the rim of her coffee cup as her lips form into a pout. “She’s… different.”

“She is,” Lena hums.

“But I still hate her,” Andrea says quickly. “On principle.”

“I think we need to revisit your definition of hate."

Andrea tosses her head back and laughs a throaty laugh, and it reminds Lena again of when they were young, when laughter was easy and flowing, and Andrea was always ready to turn something into an adventure.

“Do I have anything to worry about?” Lena finally asks quietly as the mood turns back to serious. 

The question hangs between them for a beat, and Andrea tilts her head and studies her softly.

“Why would you?” Andrea narrows her eyes. She places her coffee cup down on the table and flicks her gaze back to Lena's face. “Are you asking professionally?”

“Of course,” Lena leans back, mirroring Andrea's earlier casual posture. "If succession planning would be in my best interest, I'd like to be aware of it."

Andrea continues to dissect her with a stare, and it's obvious she doesn't believe her. But Lena stares back, mustering all the confidence she can and Andrea eventually relents.

“No, you don’t have anything to worry about,” Andrea assures her. "I'm not your competition, Lena."

“Alright then."

Andrea checks her watch and winces. "I'm sorry, I'd love to do this all day but--"

"No, of course, I need to get back," Lena says, standing slowly. She doesn't know where they stand in terms of making an exit, if they shake hands or hug or nod at each other with an understanding, but Andrea, ever the smooth operator, stops her before she has to wonder.

“Why don’t you come by later tonight? No talking business. Just--” Andrea shrugs, an embarrassed smile on her face, like she doesn't want to explain more than she has to, and Lena gets it. “I need a night like the old days. I’ll cook, it’ll be great.”

“Yeah,” Lena breathes, relaxing for the first time in what feels like ages. “I could really, really use that.”

Andrea's hand squeezes her arm, and they arrange a time to meet. Lena leaves CatCo filled with old memories, of the way Andrea would fill her apartment with exotic scents, cooking her meals that she would never even dream of. The only time her kitchen ever got used was when Andrea came over, and she really only kept it stocked for that purpose. 

Cooking is Andrea's love language, it's how she shows her appreciation, her true feelings, without having to talk about it. She's never been into sharing feelings, but if she really cares, she will cook something extraordinary that comes with a novel-length explanation behind it. She'll share all the details, watching excitedly as the food gets consumed, just waiting for a reaction. It's how Lena knows her entire mission has succeeded -- this is Andrea's way of inviting her back home. 

It isn't as satisfying as she expects, though. She still desperately wants to forgive Andrea, to truly have her and go back to what they once were. Back before they ruined each other, turning their backs and pretending they could walk away.

Andrea broke up with her to chase a legacy, a move Lena would have understood, if she didn't do it in such a dirty way. Andrea couldn't just go off on her own path, she had to take the Luthors down in the process. She was the informant that sparked the firestorm leading to Lex's downfall. It was her, wire tapping phone conversations and stealing confidential documents that led investigators right to the smoking gun that was all of Lex's illicit affairs. 

She said she had no choice, that they were desperate, on the verge of being ruined. If she didn't sell out Lex, her father would be next. She had to protect her family, and the implication was that Lena, of all people, should understand that.

And she does. She absolutely gets it. Lex needed to be stopped, and frankly, if Andrea hadn't been the one to do it, it would have fallen on Lena's shoulders. But the worst part of the entire thing was, if Andrea had only asked, Lena would have signed over her family's reputation -- with interest -- just to keep Andrea safe. And they both know that to be true.

The betrayal stings a little harder with the fact that Andrea still can't admit she was wrong. She will always maintain that she did everything to be fair to Lena. She couldn't bring herself to ask for Lena's help, since she also knew the lengths Lena would have gone to protect her. They could have done it together, and instead, Andrea cut and run. So, Lena iced her completely for years, their communication only starting again when Lena needed to pawn CatCo off on an over-eager buyer. 

She's been using Andrea ever since. And missing her even more. 

\---

"It's open!" Andrea calls out as soon as Lena knocks on her door. The loud music thumps dully, and her pulse races slightly, knowing exactly what's waiting for her on the other side.

The apartment smells incredible: bright and fresh with a hint of garlic and lime, a large ribeye sizzling on the cast iron. The wine is already poured, a crisp easy red, and Andrea's hips are swerving in time with the beat of her music as she chops more cilantro. She glances up at Lena and smiles, a big, goofy smile and nods over to the table.

"Mendel 2017," she chirps happily. She pauses, waiting for Lena to pick up the glass and take a sip. 

As always, it's a perfect balance of rich and smooth. An Argentinian Malbec, which tastes like home, because Lena knows it's Andrea's favorite. She can't help the way her eyes flutter closed as she swallows slowly.

"Incredible," she says, and Andrea's nose scrunches in triumph.

"Almost done here, make yourself at home," she says, turning her attention back to the steak she's searing. Somehow, she manages to have her hands everywhere, never missing a step as she keeps every part of the meal under control. 

It's like time hasn't passed at all. Somehow, they're still in college, thinking they're big time but really just playing pretend, hiding behind hobbies and grand gestures. Andrea looks the way she did when they were younger, her white v-neck t-shirt and ripped jeans taking her from the C-suite back to the dorm room, her hair flowing all loose and wavy and _free_.

This is the Andrea that Lena can't let go of, no matter what happens. This is the girl she thinks about when years of heartache separate them. This is the girl she loved, and just like that, all her devious intentions and defenses melt away, replaced by a burning, persistent _yearning_.

"Come try this," Andrea calls out, and Lena obeys, having been on the receiving end of this order more times than she can count. Andrea holds out a spoon, her other hand trailing underneath to catch any spills. She holds it for Lena who takes a small sample. "Chimichurri," she says. "More garlic?"

"It's perfect," Lena says, and she means it. Andrea nods seriously, turning back to her stove. 

Lena watches the way she concentrates, her tongue peeking slightly out over her lips as she flips the burner off. Andrea always had a fleeting attention span, able to focus only until something bright and shiny called her away. But when she's in her element, she could be lost for hours. The same goes for certain people in her life. She's easily wooed by riches and fame, but will always drift back to the ones she knows she can be herself around. 

Lena, it just so happens, is one of those people. 

Dinner is fantastic, as always. They avoid heavy conversation, sticking mostly to neutral topics like National City at this time of year and where to find the best wine. Andrea scrutinizes her cooking genuinely, not searching for Lena's compliments, but mostly because it means that much to her. 

"I'm sorry again for throwing this together, it's what I had on hand," Andrea winces apologetically for the third time as she watches Lena take another bite. "I'll need to have you back over after I actually go to the farmer's market."

"You know most nights I hardly remember to eat dinner," Lena reminds her, grinning. "So by that standard, anything you make will always be 5 star."

"Still a workaholic, then," Andrea teases and Lena simply smiles.

"This really is incredible. Thank you, Andrea. Truly."

Andrea shrugs, the faint traces of a blush coloring her cheeks, and Lena wants to say more. She wants to tell her _everything_ : what she's missed out on for the last several years, what Lena's been through since moving to National City, how much she's missed having _this_. But that goes exactly against everything she's trying to do. She's trying to avoid getting hurt, not fall back into old habits. And Andrea is her worst habit of all.

So instead, she leans forward and tries to focus , nodding along as Andrea tells her about a vineyard she wants to visit, all while smothering her feelings with a sinfully delicious red.

"Stay for another?" Andrea offers when the dishes are cleared, holding up a second bottle. Lena knows she shouldn't, but her brain is already foggy enough to forget consequences. 

"How can I say no?"

Andrea uncorks it, pouring them fresh glasses as she guides them to her living room. She flips the TV on and only has to flick a few channels before a familiar tune starts to play. She grins and looks at Lena knowingly. 

"I haven’t watched this in so long," Lena replies, taking a seat and watching Kate Winslet as she gazes up to the sky, studying the massive construct of the Titanic and acting fantastically bored. 

"Me neither," Andrea says, her voice hushed, like they're encroaching on a secret. “Didn’t feel right without you, y’know?”

“Yeah,” Lena breathes. “I know.”

Andrea grabs a blanket and they curl up on the couch, settling in around bottle number two, the movie covering their silence. Lena sinks into the cushions, trying hard to process everything going on, but mostly just succumbing to the allure of Andrea's presence.

It shouldn't be so overwhelming, but just like that, she's 15 again, sitting on Andrea’s couch in her den, trying to get her heartbeat under control. She goes from careless to hyperaware, willing herself to keep still. She can’t even concentrate on anything else going on around her besides the proximity of Andrea's thighs, which are slightly pressing into hers. Her finger twitches as she clenches and unclenches her fist, brushing against the fingers of Andrea's free hand that she leaves carelessly hanging between them. It sends a jolt through her core as their skin makes contact, and her heart flutters relentlessly at the way Andrea doesn't seem to pull back. 

She doesn't know how she could still possibly be here, with lifetimes lived and lost between them, and still feel so _much_. She hates Andrea with intensity, but loves her even more, and it's so complicated she just wants to put her fist through the TV. But instead she sits there quietly, sipping wine and acting like it's a casual Thursday night between old friends. 

“You know I have to do it--” Andrea turns to her after awhile, a taunting look in her eyes. “You’ve missed my rendition.”

Lena blinks stupidly, bringing herself back to the room. She glances at the screen and immediately knows a Celine Dion song is in her future, which actually helps pull her out of overthinking panic mode. She scrunches her nose. “Have I though?”

“Oh, I think you have.”

Andrea stands up abruptly, allowing the blanket to fall to the ground as she belts out _My Heart Will Go On_ with reckless abandon. It's sloppy and off-key, and she misses some of the words, which makes it utterly, absolutely perfect. It’s just as Lena remembers: Andrea, unchained and unmasked, totally free of judgement and expectation. She’s silly, and loud and outrageous, and all at once, she’s _hers._

She reaches toward Lena with an outstretched arm, before pulling it back toward her chest, her face scrunched up as she sings her heart out into her glass.

Lena is laughing to the point of tears, her ribs protesting against her sides. She abandons her glass in order to wipe her eyes. 

“Andrea--” Lena gasps, trying to bring herself back under control. “It’s a wonder you haven’t won a grammy!”

Andrea ignores her, the lyrics jumbled between gasps and chuckles as she leans forward dramatically to finish the song.

It's exhilarating to feel completely uninhibited, to be free and allow herself to have _fun_ , and God, Andrea hasn't had fun in _years_. It's partially the wine, and partially the way Lena looks at her with that teasingly quizzical look, like she can't quite believe what Andrea is doing, but is too head over heels into it to ever tell her no. 

Before she knows what's happening, their faces are inches apart, Andrea kneeling at the base of the couch, wine abandoned, and Lena cozily reclined toward her. They’re both laughing, which fades to giggling, which gives way to breathing quickly through wide-eyed stares.

Andrea feels the tension, the heavy pulling of the current that seems to drag her inch by inch further into Lena's orbit. And Lena isn't resisting, instead staring at her with a happily dazed and confused smile. She knows if she pushes only a little further, she can reach out and take what she wants, and she's fairly confident Lena wouldn't push her away.

It's absolutely a bad idea, but she's always been _great_ at those.

Her gaze flickers to Lena's lips, which have always been sinfully addictive, and back again. She feels the heat bloom beneath her skin. She wonders if the girl who loved her back once upon time is still, somehow, here with her now. That despite the deep pain, something even more eternal might exist behind Lena's eyes. She wants so badly to kiss her-- to erase all her careless mistakes, to apologize without saying words. Lena is so effortlessly lovely, and her lips so soft, that Andrea feels like the world would need to end in order to keep her from pressing against them one more time.

Before she can do anything, it's Lena that grabs the collar of her t-shirt and Lena that pulls her forward. The next thing she knows, they’re pressed together, on the verge of laughter and kissing like it's their first time: tentative and surprised, with gentle cautious breaths as they search each other's eyes for permission. Lena's lashes are long and fluttering, her cheeks flushed and beautiful. Her breath hitches and she whines almost inaudibly, folding into Andrea like she's returning home after an endless journey. Something releases within Andrea's chest, and she surges forward, capturing Lena's mouth and devouring her completely. Suddenly they're sloppy, uncontrolled, wild,-- all without the awkward fumbling jitters. It feels familiar and explosive as Lena'shands work through her hair, her gorgeous lips slotting perfectly against Andrea's, her tongue sneaking boldly into her mouth. Andrea's stomach quivers and the air flows out of her lungs as she's pulled closer, her senses filled with nothing but Lena, Lena, Lena.

"C'mere," Lena mumbles against Andrea's mouth, pulling her fully on top, her hands running over Andrea's back as she kisses her fiercely. 

"Oh," Andrea whispers against Lena's lips. "Fuck, Lena," she exhales, her words swallowed whole as she collapses fully against Lena's body. 

The familiar longing tugs on Andrea's heart, reminding her that no matter how hard she tries, it will never go away. She _wants_ this, and she wants _Lena_. Kissing her again is like free-falling through space, with the wind whipping through her hair, rushing past her ears so loud that she can't make sense of anything but _her_. She doesn't have any regard for the landing, or what comes next, because there’s Lena, holding her hand and jumping right along with her.

For Lena, the world must fade to black, because the next thing she knows it’s past midnight and an infomercial is casually blinking at them, showering the room in fits and starts of light. She could spend quite a few hours with only Andrea's lips to keep her company, just like she used to when she was younger, and _God_ , what she'd give to go back in time and pause. 

“You’re still a great kisser,” Lena whispers into the darkness, pressing a gentle one to Andrea’s swollen lips when they come up for air. 

“You say that like you're surprised,” Andrea teases, and Lena’s mouth hangs open at her bravado. She brushes aside a stray bit of hair out of Lena's eyes with a wink. “Ha, you know I’m kidding. Your lips have always been top shelf.”

“You'd better say that.” 

“I’d rather not say anything,” Andrea husks, her eyes hooded and serious. “Just keep kissing me.”

Andrea leans in, wrapping Lena in her arms, and everything just feels _right_. It doesn't matter what they've been through, or how absurdly inconvenient this is. Lena melts into her, feeling the way Andrea pushes against her like she can't get close enough, her hands wandering dangerously under the fabric of her shirt. Her finger tips press intensely into her skin as if mapping every piece of her all over again. There's a throbbing between her thighs, as her body reacts to every one of Andrea's movements.

"Andrea..." Lena whimpers into her hair, scrunching her eyes closed as Andrea's lips travel warmly down her neck.

"Is this okay?" she asks softly, her breath hot against Lena's skin. She pushes Lena's shirt up higher, revealing the expanse of her ribs, which she traces with her tongue. 

And it is, it so is, but Lena knows she can't. They can't. If Andrea's hips move even in the slightest, Lena will be a goner, and once they take the leap, there will be no way to undo it. She wants Andrea so bad she can hardly think straight, but how will she ever rationalize her way out of this one? And how will she ever be able to look Sam in the eye again? 

_Sam_. The thought sends a jolt of adrenaline so sharp through Lena's core that she almost cries out. It feels like a betrayal, even though it technically isn't, and suddenly she's thousands of miles away thinking about the girl she left behind. 

"We shouldn't..." Lena manages to mumble as Andrea's fingers slide under her bra. She stiffens as much as she can, her heart pounding like a jackhammer. She reaches out and touches Andrea's chest, and Andrea's head drops down as she groans.

"Why do you have to be the responsible one?" she chides, her voice vibrating against Lena's stomach. 

She lifts her head and looks up into Lena's eyes, her face a mixture of relief and exasperation. She taps on Lena's collarbone gently before pushing herself up and off. Lena sits up too, feeling cold with the sudden loss of Andrea's heat. 

“To be fair, this wasn’t entirely what I had in mind when I invited you over," Andrea says through a smile that seems to sparkle as she fixes her hair. "Not that I'm complaining."

"She plies me with good food and wine and then she wonders," Lena jokes, pushing aside her own awkward feelings. She adjusts her shirt and ignores the ravenous pulse between her thighs. “Are you saying you regret it?”

“No,” Andrea exclaims, shaking her head emphatically. “I don’t ever regret time spent with you. I just wasn’t trying to....overstep. I guess I got caught up.”

Her hair is messy from where Lena's fingers just ran through it, and her face is flushed, making her look so sexy Lena almost goes back on her decision. Responsibility be damned. 

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” she says, placing a hand on Andrea's cheek, her heart bursting at the way Andrea leans into it. "I got caught up, too."

“God, I just--" Andrea stumbles, shaking her head. "I missed you," she whispers, her eyes closing against Lena's hand. 

"Me too." 

She wants to kiss her again, but instead she takes her hand back slowly and feels her heart break. She fidgets awk wardly, trying to find some way to come back from this, but there's really nothing to say. Instead of taking back the power from Andrea, all she's managed to do is fall further into confusion. 

"Lena?"

"Hm?"

"What do you want?" Andrea asks, without looking at her. She stares at the TV and pretends she's talking to someone else. "I know you better than to think you came to my office today on a whim," she explains, looking down at her hands, "I thought you just wanted... I don't know...intel. But you've really put one over on me here."

"Intel?" Lena can't help her eyebrow from arching, her throat dry at the way Andrea casually calls her bluff. "I wouldn't need to take my clothes off for that, Andrea."

Andrea turns to face her, cocking her head to the side. 

"That still doesn't answer my question."

“I don't--" Lena starts, feeling on the verge of explosion. She swallows carefully, deliberately. In a controlled voice she says, "I'm just tired of hurting. Of everyone hurting each other.”

There's a heavy, apologetic silence as Andrea nods quietly in the dark. She doesn't try to argue that, or even come up with a solution. She lets it hang for several seconds until she clears her throat. 

“Why did you and Sam break up?”

Lena straightens, shaking her head, feeling the wind go out of her lungs at just the mention of Sam. “I don’t--” she starts, chuckling nervously. “I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”

Andrea shrugs. “It just doesn’t make a lot of sense, I guess.”

“You know I can’t keep nice things,” Lena rolls her eyes. Self deprecation comes naturally, so the response shouldn't be a shock. But Andrea, per usual, isn't swayed.

“Don’t do that,” she admonishes, looking at her sharply. “Don’t deflect.”

“That’s rich,” Lena snorts and Andrea gives her a 'don't try me' stare. Lena crosses her arms. “What do you want me to say?”

“The truth,” Andrea says sharply. “You used to tell me everything.”

“You lost that position when you broke my heart,” Lena stares back at her evenly. 

Andrea deflates slightly. “I couldn’t be what you needed.”

“So you sabotaged us," Lena concludes, jaw setting heavily. "You could have just asked me for help, Andrea. I would have given you what you wanted."

"Lena, you know I couldn't do that," Andrea says. She's on the edge of frustrated, and Lena can feel it. But _this_ is also familiar. This anger, this betrayal. This has become as second nature as longing, and she craves it just as much. "I didn't want you in that position. To choose between me or you family? It wouldn't have been fair."

They've been down this road before, and Lena isn't going to change Andrea's mind. Andrea stands up and starts pacing, looking like she's about to pounce. "What kind of person would I be to take advantage of you like that?"

"So you went behind my back?" Lena exclaims, incredulous. "You just wanted an excuse to leave, plain and simple. You _knew_ I would have given you everything. It wouldn't have even been a question."

Andrea throws up her hands. "I can't win with you," she says, dropping into her chair next to the couch. "I never could."

"Oh, please," Lena rolls her eyes, huffing as she sinks back into the couch. Her anger is palpable, pulsing behind her eyes as she studies Andrea. It's incredible how _much_ she feels as she looks at her, all hot feelings of rage, hate, and attraction. "You asked why I broke up with Sam," Lena reminds her, not entirely sure why she feels the need to answer. But she wants Andrea to know just how deeply she's been hurt. "I wanted to leave her before she could be anything like you."

Andrea glances up, her eyes glistening. She swallows heavily and nods.

“Someone once told me I don’t know how to make good decisions,” she looks pointedly at Lena. “Well, you were right.”

Lena looks hard at the floor. 

“We were so young,” Andrea tries but Lena holds up her hand.

“We were old enough,” Lena bites back. “But you were too scared."

“So were you,” Andrea retorts, her jaw muscles flexing as she clenches. "We still are," she says, a sheepish chuckle escaping her throat. 

“I’m sorry, what was that? Andrea Rojas, on the record, confessing to a feeling? You’re getting soft.”

“It’s called growth, Lena. You should try it,” Andrea says, exasperated. She chews her lip thoughtfully, and her eyes are so _blue_ and so _sad_ that Lena has to tense her muscles just to stop from hugging her. Her shoulders sag as she exhales, long and slow. “I will always be sorry for hurting you,” she whispers finally. 

“I still really hate you for doing what you did," Lena says, her jaw clenching as she tries to keep the rage under control.

“I know." Andrea's voice is watery and soft, and Lena feels like she's drowning.

“And I wish I could hate you enough to make a difference," Lena says, avoiding Andrea's eyes. “But I can’t.”

It hangs over them like a confession, but of what, Lena isn't entirely sure. She just knows she can't quit Andrea, no matter how many times she convinces herself she should. It's love and heartache and torture, all wrapped into a conveniently attractive package.

“Do you think we could--” Andrea frowns at herself, unsure. “Can we ever be okay again?”

Lena doesn't answer right away. Can they?

“One day," she promises, in spite of herself. "I'm still so angry with you. But you’re always going to be part of me.” 

Andrea gets up and walks over to her, extending a quiet hand. Lena takes it and allows herself to be pulled up and into Andrea's arms. She hugs her tightly, for several long seconds, and neither of them speak. Lena just allows herself to fall into it, without trying to think about anything else.

"I think we needed this," Lena says as Andrea walks her to the door. She stands by the threshold, watching as Andrea runs her fingers through her hair. Lena's heart flutters against her wishes, and she wishes her body would just give her a break. 

"Yeah," Andrea hums, nodding. "I think so too."

"I'll see you soon," Lena says quietly. "Thank you, again, for dinner."

"Good night, Lena."

Lena feels completely torn up, annoyed with herself for making everything so goddamn personal. As usual, she went in guns blazing, only to have it backfire. She wanted to confuse Andrea, to take back some power, and all she got was burned. 

She touches her lips, furious at the warmth spreading through her chest as she thinks about Andrea's mouth on hers, how perfect it felt, how much she ached to have her like that again. The only thing keeping her upright is the fact that she had enough strength to stop it from going too far, which is something Andrea _couldn't_ do. So there's that. 

Inconveniently and right on schedule, her mind turns to Sam, and her entire body trembles. She doesn't know how to tell the difference, or detangle what she's feeling. All she knows is that Andrea is white hot fire, and Sam is warm steady heat, and Lena doesn't know how she'll ever be able to choose between them.  Andrea might have sabotaged them once upon a time, but Lena is the hypocrite. She pulled back from Sam, using any excuse she could think of, just to feel like she had control. 

She didn't realize her feelings were _this_ powerful and _this_ twisted. But somehow, all she managed to do tonight was confirm two things:

Andrea Rojas is part of her soul and Sam Arias is her heart. And if she doesn't get her shit together, she's going to lose them both. 

As the door closes, Andrea leans back against it, letting out a long, exhausted breath. Her emotions are haywire, and she feels like she just went 12 rounds in a prize fight only for the whole thing to be called a tie. And Andrea _hates_ ties. 

Sure, the fact that they're kissing instead of fighting is a small victory, but Lena got her revved up and aching, only to leave her feeling empty. And beyond that, she isn't sure if they're right back where they started, or if they actually took two steps backward after tonight. There are so many feelings there, but not all of them good. She wishes it could be simple, but nothing in her life ever is. 

The fact remains: Lena will always be _that girl_ \-- the one she wasn't supposed to find, the one she wasn't supposed to love, and the one she definitely can't get over. There's part of Andrea that will always love her, even if she pretends she doesn't. But there's something else, too. Something strange and prickly needling at the back of her mind that she wishes she could ignore, but will only blow up later if she refuses. It flashes before her eyes, sporting a charming smile and an intensity that matches Andrea's own.

Sam. Andrea sucks in a breath, longing for her almost as much. 

She bangs her head against the door, closing her eyes. Lena still loves Sam. It was written all over her face the moment Andrea asked about their relationship. But the fiery jealousy that burns in her gut isn't the kind she expects at all. When she pictured this moment over and over again in her mind as she ached to be back in Lena's good graces, it was only them. It was Lena's silky skin and full lips surrounding Andrea and putting her back together again. She never anticipated this weird, twisting guilt in the pit of her stomach as she checks her phone, hoping to see a _different_ name light up the screen.

Her heart flutters at the text left waiting for her.

_Sam: now im drunk...and i want you_

Well, fuck. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know, i know, how dare. now we all feel blocked like andrea. it'll get better, promise. @stennnn06 on tumblr


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> andrea's back and she's better than ever. after some (purposeful) avoidance, andrea heads to metropolis but ends up spending more time with sam than just a quick romp in the sheets. things are definitely shifting between them, and by the end of it, neither one is quite sure what to make of their current status - except that they both can't get enough. sam has another visitor a few nights later, who makes a proposition that's definitely going to keep her up all night. 
> 
> tisk, tisk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a VERY self indulgent chapter (unlike this whole fic - lmao). i'm just a big baseball fan and such a sucker for baseball game dates OKAY? + i wanted to throw shade at the astros scandal. if that part makes no sense just skip it. i also had the reigncorp scene planned like, since the beginning, and then i changed ALL OF IT so thats great. but fear not, this is only part 1. we all know i left THAT hanging....
> 
> apologies in advance if the argentinian slang makes no sense, we out here doing our best with what we find - if you think of andrea rojas swearing in spanish, you've got the picture. 
> 
> these scenes pair well with a cold beer (thanks gaby for the beer rec in the fic!) and some jams:
> 
> andrea/sam: steamy windows, tina turner; hope you get lonely tonight, cole swindell  
> lena/sam: home again, carole king; never really over, katy perry
> 
> enjoy!

Andrea stares at the text message on her phone repeatedly over the next several days. There's a clawing _need_ in her chest, and her mouth practically waters at the thought of fulfilling Sam's drunken request. She wants to answer with her hands raking over Sam's endless legs, her lips trailing darkly over the sharp crest of her hips. She wants Sam's strong arms wrapped around her, her intensely focused gaze tearing through her soul. 

But no matter how desperate she feels, she can't bring herself to actually _say_ it.

_So come take me..._

She shakes her head and erases her would-be reply, trying to type out something more delicately flirtatious instead. 

_Tell me more..._ she types, but she erases that, too, because it doesn't fit the vibe.She sucks at this. Because honestly, what the _fuck_ is she supposed to say? It's criminal how badly she wants Sam. But it all seems too tenuous to try to muddle with words. Talking has never been her strong suit. She hates dealing in hypotheticals -- sending 'what are you wearing?' texts and acting like that's sufficient -- when she knows full well that all it's going to do is make this _worse_. She wants to just _be there_ , feeling Sam's body engulf her, enraptured in the way she pushes deep inside, curling her fingers and coaxing words to be irrelevant as they die on her lips with every thrust. 

There's no elegant way to retain control and let it slip to the sexy brunette across the country that she wants to do fantastically horrible things to her -- and that she wants those fantastically horrible things done in return.

Frustrated, and faced with yet another relentless day ahead, she turns her phone over and extends her silence. She'll deal with this later. It serves Sam right, anyway, Andrea thinks. Why'd she have to go and dangle this just outside of her reach? Sam has such a hold over her right now, that her entire body ignites with just the _suggestion_ of being around her again. It's only fair that they _both_ suffer a little. 

It lasts longer than she intends, and once a day passes, then another, she knows she can't address it. The moment is fleeting, and now there's nothing between them but a long, aching silence. It shouldn't bother her the way it does, but she finds the growing distance infuriatingly uncomfortable. There's something missing now every time she checks her phone, or every time she settles into bed after a long day only to realize she's alone. 

That's not how this is supposed to go. It's supposed to be a game, a battle of wills -- not all gooey and soft and covered in feelings. She can't actually be _missing_ Sam Arias. She resigned herself to stop with all that nonsense long ago. What they have is purely physical. Her attraction to Sam can't actually _mean_ something, can it?

No, she decides. It can't. 

It takes another week for Andrea to finally get her shit together and get on a jet to Metropolis. It would have been sooner, but she's not about to look pathetic. This is transactional, and she'll do this on her terms, even if it's the only thing she's been able to think about since Sam put it out there.

It's Saturday morning when the doorbell rings. Sam frowns as she checks her phone, because who the hell drops in randomly without texting first? Only Jehovah's Witnesses and Girl Scouts would be out this early, and only one of those options comes with cookies. But there are no alerts, no texts, just the same miserable silence she's been left with for two weeks. _Two weeks._ Her stomach twists as she thinks of Andrea _again_ , and the way she seems to have vanished without a trace. No text responses. Not even a snarky vague post on the 'gram. Just dead air. The anger courses through her veins, hot and steady as she clenches her jaw.

Fucking Tequila. She should never drink the stuff, and if she _does,_ she should make sure her phone is far away from her loose fingers. She can't believe she sent something so over the top to Andrea. But what she _really_ can't believe is how Andrea straight up ignored it. 

How fucking _dare_ \---

She peers through her curtain and notices a woman standing there, her back to Sam's door, surveying the road. Her heart immediately betrays her, hammering heavily in her chest. She knows exactly who it is before she even steps outside, and she has half a mind to tell her right the fuck off. _Where the fuck_ \--- she starts to think, before her mind fizzles and blanks. As soon as Andrea turns around, arms crossed and sporting an unimpressed smirk, she loses the ability to form a coherent sentence. Andrea is dressed...different. She’s not in her usual uniform of a skin tight dress and heels to the sky, face immaculate like a professional make up team has painted it in place. Instead, she’s casual, with a leather jacket over a white t-shirt, her tight black jeans outlining every curve of her legs, and a pair of aviators covering her eyes. Her lips are full and delicious, her face easy and natural. 

_Well, fuck me_.

It’d be pointless to act like Andrea doesn’t look sinfully hot, and to make matters worse, she _absolutely_ knows it. 

Sam crosses her arms, trying but failing to hold onto the resentment she’d been storing for just this occasion. Andrea casually flips her sunglasses to the crown of her head and raises an eyebrow, leaning against the doorway just a little. 

Most people would say hello, but Andrea Rojas is obviously not most people. 

“Took you long enough,” Sam finally mumbles, parroting Andrea’s own brand of snarky response. She feels the last of her resolve melt away into nothing, and something in her face must show it, because Andrea’s shoulders visibly relax. 

They stare at each other, tentatively appraising, until Andrea inches a little closer at the same time that Sam reaches out. She grabs a fistful of her t-shirt and pulls her roughly across the threshold.

"Hey," Sam husks against Andrea's lips as they crash together, her tongue wasting no time in traveling down the delicate chords of her neck. 

She works her hands under Andrea's shirt, relishing in the tightness of her stomach, the pounding beat of her heart. Her senses are overtaken by the clean hints of her shampoo and the subtle, crisp fragrance of her perfume. Citrus and sandalwood, apparently. Delicious. Andrea responds roughly, her teeth sinking into Sam's lip, her hands scraping up Sam's back, and before either one of them can react, Sam is pushed against the door, her mouth filled with Andrea's tongue.

It's frantic and desperate, to the point that Sam completely forgets she has neighbors. She doesn't care about anything but Andrea and her tight body being pushed up against her own. 

"Hey yourself," Andrea eventually breathes, tossing her head back for easier access. Sam rakes her fingers over Andrea's shoulder blades, under her jacket, pulling her impossibly closer as she trails her tongue over her throat. 

She notices the goosebumps forming along Andrea's skin, and Sam smiles, kissing over them deliberately as she makes her way back to Andrea's lips. 

When they finally break apart for air, Sam is gasping, staring in disbelief at Andrea's beautifully smug face. 

"Thought you got lost," she says, running her fingers through her own messed up hair, still not entirely sure what Andrea is doing. She just hopes it's real, because she really can't afford to wake up from this dream _alone._

"I'm here, aren't I?" Andrea challenges, and _God_ , she's insufferable. Sam rolls her eyes and nudges her chin toward the inside, silently inviting Andrea to come in before she's forced to take her right there on the front steps. 

The house is warm and comfortable, exactly the way Andrea would picture it if she spent time scrutinizing what Sam's living situation would be. But this is exactly the kind of thing she's been avoiding. She doesn't need to wonder about Sam's habits, doesn't need to think about her dressed down and cozy, all curled up at home. But now that she's here, it's a clear obstacle that she certainly didn't plan enough for.

The house is a slice of suburban heaven, with cheerful navy shutters and colorful flower beds outside, and inside, it's got just enough personality to make it overwhelming. Like Sam's office, there are little hints of her _everywhere_ : Framed photographs throughout the hallway, colorful and decorative trinkets that seem to be collected from various vacations, a Ninja juicer on the counter next to an oversized tub of hemp protein. She follows her through the kitchen and into the family room, taking note of the oversized leather recliner with a Metropolis Monarchs blanket draped over the top, and the comfortable looking leather couch arranged next to it. She wonders briefly where Sam sits when she's having a glass of wine, texting during those super charged late nights. 

"Nice place," Andrea says, her eyes still grazing. She notices an impressive record collection, stacked neatly along a shelf. She tilts her head to read some of the titles. _Diana Ross_. _Tina Turner_. _Carole King. Beach Boys._

It's all so very Sam, and Andrea suddenly finds it strangely comforting to be here. She hates how it needles into those places in her heart that she doesn't want to open.

"Thanks," Sam says from back in the kitchen. She holds up a mug of coffee that she seems to have procured from thin air. "Cream, sugar? I've got cinnamon in mine, I know that's sort of different--"

Andrea's heart flutters. "No I--" she clears her throat. "I like that, too."

Sam nods, putting the rest of the coffee together and joining Andrea in the family room. 

“What's happening here?" Andrea gestures over Sam's body, her tongue clicking slightly. "I feel like I’m interrupting something. Unless this is just typical TV watching attire?”

Sam glances down at the baseball jersey she completely forgot she was wearing and her face ignites. “Oh, right," she chuckles, shaking her head. "I’ve got tickets to the game today, actually.”

“Ah,” Andrea nods, the disappointment crashing into her a little heavier than she expects. It never even occurred to her that Sam would have other plans, but of course she would. She's not entirely pathetic, like some people. 

“The perks of working for Lena and her many investors,” Sam mentions offhandedly. “She never takes the tickets unless she absolutely has to.”

“Oh, yeah, she wouldn’t be caught dead at a baseball game,” Andrea scoffs, glancing down at the floor with a wry smile. “They take way too long. She’d be glued to her phone with that face she always makes.”

Sam’s laugh sneaks up on her as Andrea makes the exact face -- somehow capturing the way Lena’s brow always furrows with her mouth slightly ajar, her fingers typing a mile a minute on a fake phone as she mumbles under her breath. A Lena classic. Sam's stomach flutters, for confusing reasons.

“Do they have to chew such obnoxious pieces of gum?" Andrea mimics in Lena's perfectly throaty accent, and Sam laughs harder. 

“Me, on the other hand,” Andrea says, shrugging, her voice back to normal. “Beer and overpriced hot dogs? That’s my idea of a good time.”

“You’re joking,” Sam laughs, frowning as Andrea stares back at her with a serious expression. “You’re...serious? I really had you pegged as more of an orchestra section on Broadway type."

“Why not both?” Andrea challenges, her hands resting on her hips. 

“The more ya know.” Sam hesitates, considering. “Would you--" it's absolutely ridiculous, but the words come out anyway. "Would you want to go?”

Andrea shrugs, studying her nails. “Who are they playing again?”

“Star City."

“Oh I _hate_ them. Their manager is an asshole,” Andrea says darkly. She then lights up with a conspiratorial smile. “Fuck yeah I wanna go!”

\---

“You've been here before, yeah?" Andrea asks as they walk up toward the stadium from the parking lot. The Monarchs logo looms overhead. 

Sam shakes her head and Andrea stops. 

"Never?" 

Sam shakes her head again. She's been wanting to get out here for as long as she's been in Metropolis, but her work schedule is erratic, her social life nonexistent and her dating status...confusing. It's one of those things she knows she could easily go to by herself, but it's definitely a better experience when it's shared with someone else.

(Like with her ridiculous hot fuck buddy/pseudo nemesis who just happens to be in town and is suddenly willing to engage in activities outside of the bedroom. Perfect.)

"Oh, you're in for a treat,” Andrea chuckles, shooting a knowing glance her way as they head to the entrance of the stadium. Sam doesn't know what that means at all, but she figures she'll find out. Andrea simply keeps walking. 

"What, you're not forcing any rules on me, then?" Sam asks cheekily as she catches up with Andrea, their strides matching. 

Andrea shoots her a glare. She scans her from top to bottom, her eyes narrowing before she answers. Sam meets her gaze with a level one of her own. "Only if they become necessary."

"Noted."

She's still in her leather jacket, but she's got Sam's blue Monarchs t-shirt on now, tied up in the corner so the faintest trace of her stomach shows when she adjusts her sunglasses. Sam swallows heavily. She can't believe Andrea actually agreed to wear something of hers, and now it's literally all she can think about. Well, that, and how it's completely unfair how _good_ she looks. 

Sam adjusts her hat. Her jersey hangs open over a tank top, and she pulls the tickets out of the front pocket of her jeans. 

"It's not the box," Sam warns, before handing one over. She braces herself for Andrea's scorn. "So lower your expectations."

"They're not bad seats," Andrea muses, studying the section printed on the ticket. "We'll have a better view from the lower bowl anyway."

Sam is surprised at the way she's being agreeable, so she doesn't push it. Her whole energy seems different, like hanging out on a Saturday is just something the two of them do now, and Sam wonders if this is something she could get used to.

(The fact that Andrea is also weirdly well-informed about baseball is an unexpected and sexy side fact that Sam can't even _begin_ to process.)

Andrea nods silent greetings to the staff as they walk through the gates, which is another unexpected development. Andrea isn't known to be overly friendly and courteous. But she waves to the vendors like they're old friends as they make their way down to the lower level, stopping to high-five one of the security guards as he walks past shouting _'we gonna get 'em today, Ms. Rojas!'_. She even seems to know people in the crowd, as Sam watches a few of them turn and raise cups of beer in recognition as they walk through the mezzanine.

“You’re like a freakin' celebrity,” Sam says, eyeing her. 

“I mean--” Andrea grins and opens her arms, puffing out her chest in a cocky gesture as if to say, _duh_. 

Sam snorts. "Yeah, okay."

Andrea rolls her eyes and taps her gently on the shoulder with the back of her hand. “I’m kidding. Sometimes I’m sarcastic."

"I'm shocked."

It's a little unnerving, the more she thinks about it. But then again, the Rojas family is as well known as the Luthors, making just as many appearances on TMZ for the most trivial things. They're notorious -- for different reasons, of course -- so it shouldn't be surprising that Andrea receives the same looks of wide-eyed surprise that Lena often does when she's caught in public. Ordinarily, Sam supposes, Lena and Andrea would be able to fly under the radar, but it doesn't help that they're both bombshells who never fit into any setting they walk into. They're both _too_ gorgeous and _too_ rich and just _too much_ to blend in _._ Sam wants to chalk it up to just another part of the job -- running multi-billion dollar companies doesn't come without some notoriety-- but she realizes that being next to Andrea is going to mean more of the uncomfortable spotlight being tossed in her direction.

It settles heavily in her chest, the way it always used to when she had Lena on her arm.

"I came here a lot when I was younger,” Andrea shrugs, ignoring Sam's teasing. "Kind of a tradition, ya know? It's good to be back, it's been awhile. Oh!" she points ahead to the patio, where several food trucks are parked. The smells coming through under the awning are fantastically tempting -- smoky, savory, and hints of fried _everything_. Sam's mouth waters. "We _have_ to get Babs' Brats. It's the best thing in the whole place. Trust me."

She grabs her hand and pulls her through the crowd. Sam allows herself to be guided, enjoying the way Andrea talks a mile a minute about _"the best bratwurst you'll ever taste"_ and pointing at the craft beers on tap. Sam simply smiles and allows Andrea to make recommendations, wondering how the hell she knows all the seasonal listings without even checking the menu. She's strangely attentive, and her lips purse expectantly as Sam takes a sip of American Beauty, a New England IPA that Andrea claims is the perfect pairing with _anything_.

"That's delicious," Sam says gratefully, her eyes closing as the pleasantly tangy flavor hits her tongue. 

"Right?" Andrea's smile widens.

They gather their food -- Andrea insists on adding a side of loaded cheese fries, something Sam would never in a million years picture Andrea Rojas even _glancing_ at -- but she secretly revels in it. Lena used to always tease her for her 'frat boy palette', but it's strangely comforting that Andrea seems to share the same appreciation for junk food. It shouldn't really matter, but for some reason, it does, and Sam catches herself staring as Andrea grabs the napkins, wondering what the hell else she's hiding.

She picks just that moment to turn to Sam with an unguarded smile, her eyes sparkling, and Sam's stomach drops ten stories. She quickly adjusts into a scowl, her eyebrow piercing skyward.

"What, weirdo?"

Sam rolls her eyes, and Andrea breaks her seriousness with an uncharacteristic giggle. 

She isn't sure who this pod person is that has replaced Andrea Rojas, but she isn't sure she wants to break the spell by asking. Because this girl, _this girl_ makes her knees go a little weak and her hands feel a little clammy. This girl is charming, and warm, and friendly, with a bit of a sarcastic streak that isn't meant to hurt anyone. She's smooth, and easy, and stunningly attractive, and Sam wouldn't mind getting to know _her_ better. 

They take their food and maneuver through the crowd toward their section.  One of the older ushers standing at the entrance of the aisle recognizes Andrea and waves at her enthusiastically. 

“Andy! It’s been so long! How’s your dad?” 

Andrea stiffens only briefly, her eyes darting to Sam before returning. She offers an easy smile.

“He’s hanging in there, Dottie,” she says warmly. “It’s so good to see you.”

“Andy?” Sam repeats softly, nudging Andrea's shoulder as they pass Dottie and head down the stairs. 

“Call me that and see what happens,” Andrea snarls, her eyes softening at the corners just a little. Sam's stomach flips over itself as Andrea's lips turn up into a joking grin. She's _definitely_ holding on to that one for later. 

They finally take their seats, and Sam is pleased to find that they actually have a great view behind the plate. They're not the most expensive seats in the place, but they're up there. Enough that she can understand why Andrea didn't give her too hard a time about it earlier. 

The stadium is bright and large, with blinking advertisements in every corner. The field is perfectly manicured, the green grass almost flawlessly bright in shade. They have a great view of the players returning to the home dugout as they get ready for the game to start. Sam settles in, taking another sip of what is apparently going to be her new favorite beer. 

Andrea leans close, and it catches Sam off guard until she realizes she's chattering away and pointing out several of the Metropolis players as they pass by. Sam listens as she mutters little known facts about them, each detail more fascinating and bizarre than the next. She thought she was a fan, but Andrea seems to know _everything_ \-- specifics about their contracts, and how they _really_ act behind closed doors. 

“This fuckin’ guy,” Andrea says, taking a sip of her beer and pointing to the Monarchs' gold glover Mike Matthews with her cup. “Lazy motherfucker. Comes late to work outs, spends more time on the injured list than actually playing. His big fat contract is a waste of money. I can't wait til they offload it this winter."

"Tell me about it, he cost me $500 on FanDuel," Sam grumbles, remembering how her statistical projection went to shit because of a late first inning injury. "Never again."

"You use that wretched thing?" Andrea eyes her with calculated judgement. "You would."

"Bad habit," Sam deflects, her cheeks warming. "Running stats and creating projections are kind of my thing."

"Nerd," Andrea teases, but it lands softly as a slow smile dances on her lips. She studies Sam for another second, reconsidering. "You should come to me before putting in your line up next time," Andrea says, her voice surprisingly sincere. "I'll make sure you keep your money."

It's the first time Andrea has offered to be genuinely helpful, without following it with an insult, and it spins awkwardly in Sam's mind. 

"How do you--"

Andrea taps Sam's shoulder and leans forward. "Sh," she whispers. "Listen."

Despite the crowd noise, Sam picks up on the strange rhythmic pounding of someone's hand against a basin. Or something equally as strange and out of place, like there's a drum circle taking place somewhere out of their line of sight. Andrea squints to the visitor's dugout, and back to the batter. He swings and tips the ball foul. 

"I swear to God," she mutters, glancing back at Sam. "Star City is a bunch of cheaters, and I'm going to prove it one day. Fucking Oliver Queen better tighten his ass, because he is going to hear from me _personally_."

Sam's cheeks blaze. It shouldn't be so sexy, the way Andrea's eyes darken when she's threatening someone, but God, if Sam doesn't want to jump her right this second. Usually, that kind of rage is thrown in her direction, but it's sort of a thrill to see it as an innocent third party. She follows Andrea's dagger stare and notices the way the players in the dugout seem to be using different signals than normal. Sam tries to pay attention. 

"Last time I saw them play in National City, I spent the whole time trying to convince everyone they were mic’ed," she says, straining to see better. 

“Trust me, you're not kidding. It’s going to be a full blown scandal by the end of the season,” Andrea insists, taking another sip of beer. 

“A CatCo exclusive?” Sam hints, and Andrea turns to her with a sly grin. 

“I know people.”

Andrea winks, and Sam swears everything inside her body seems to melt.

They go back to watching the game, and Andrea catches herself stealing glances at Sam more than she's paying attention to the action. She likes the way she leans forward, focused, her elbows on her thighs and her hand curled under her chin as she watches the pitcher check the runner at 1 st . She mumbles what pitch is coming next, and a majority of the time, she's dead on. Andrea feels a swell of affection begin to roll through her chest, marveling at how _whip smart_ , how _focused_ , how fucking _sexy_ Sam is, and she knows she needs to distract herself before it becomes a _problem_. This is still Sam Arias after all. She has no business feeling warm and fuzzy over her.

She reaches over and grabs Sam's hat.

"Hey!" Sam pouts, fixing her hair after Andrea positions the cap on her own head. She flips it backward, and smirks at her phone purposefully. It isn't for any reason, other than to tease Sam a little, to hopefully push on the attraction that Andrea hopes is still there. To get them back to familiar territory. This is different for them -- spending time together on purpose -- and she doesn't know if this breaks the spell of whatever weird vibe they had going on. For her part, it's only making everything _stronger_ , and it's terrifying. But if they joke around and keep it light, then maybe they can avoid falling into something too deep.

It's so much easier to hate Sam, but she's starting to forget what that feels like. 

She snaps a few pictures and when she's finally happy with the image, she saves one and sends it to Sam's phone.

"For later," Andrea says knowingly, taking particular pleasure in the way the muscles in Sam's jaw flutter as she unlocks her phone and stares.

Sam finally seems to get it together, because she takes her phone and leans in close to Andrea, her shoulder bumping into hers. Andrea hesitates, overwhelmed by the sudden contact.

"What are you doing?"

"Taking a picture?" Sam asks, frowning. "Ya know, to commemorate spending a whole afternoon without killing each other."

"Well, the day is young," Andrea tuts, clicking her tongue. "You want me in it?" she blinks, confused. 

"No, I'm going to take a picture with this guy," Sam says, leaning to her other side and making the man on her left extremely uncomfortable. He frowns, looking at her as she grins, crinkling her nose a little. "Sorry, you're not my type." She turns back to Andrea, leaving the stranger gaping. "Duh, you," Sam rolls her eyes. "Get in here."

They lean together, their heads close and smiles wide. Sam sticks her tongue out while she snaps the picture once, and Andrea steals a glance at her at the last possible moment. In the second shot, she's caught stealing, while Sam positively beams.

"Perfect," Sam says, turning to face her with a grin. "We're pretty hot, right? Who knew?"

Andrea shakes her head, not sure what to say to that. Who knew, indeed? The two of them don't belong together, and yet... 

"You can have this back," Andrea says softly, reaching to hand the hat back over.

Sam shakes her head. "Nah," she says, smiling warmly. "It definitely looks better on you."

It's satisfying the way she says it, and Andrea feels a pleasant warmth ease through her body. She's the happiest and most relaxed she can ever remember feeling, which is a strange surprise since she has no idea how to make sense of her feelings. This is so far from what she thought her trip to Metropolis would look like, with her and Sam actually bonding instead of trading insults or trying to get a rise out of each other. She didn't know they had anything in common, but that wasn't the possibility that scared her.

It was _this_. 

The sun moves lower in the sky, and when Sam tilts her head and looks at her, everything seems to slow. The light reflects off her golden skin in such a way that the shadows outline the chiseled shape of her jaw. Andrea studies her unabashedly, noticing for the first time the flecks of blonde in her hair, accentuated now without her hat. She licks her lips unconsciously as she watches Sam's mouth, noting the way her lips sit natural and soft, a reminder of how delicate they always feel against hers. They curve up in a curious smile, and Andrea feels stupidly jittery.

Sam leans forward slightly and her forearms flex, the muscles straining like they're sculpted from marble, and Andrea's throat runs dry as she continues to drink her all in. She doesn't know what's happening between them, but she knows she wants to do _a lot_ of things of about it. 

"Whatcha thinkin' about?" Sam asks, her nose crinkling like Andrea's about to tell her a joke. 

"Nothing," Andrea blurts quickly, remembering that she's quite literally in public, at a baseball game, drooling over Sam Arias. For fuck's sake. “Who do I have to fuck to get another beer?” She swivels around in her seat, pulling her eyes from Sam and pretending to search. 

Sam giggles, pointing at the beer guy several rows over and Andrea scowls at him. Sam positions her fingers by her lips and blows, letting out a piercing whistle. The beer guy immediately glances in her direction and Sam holds up two fingers. 

Andrea gives her side eye. “How the hell do you do that?”

“I’m good with my mouth,” Sam shrugs, eyes widening as she must realize how it sounds. Andrea's entire body feels like she's been doused in ice water, and she bites her lip.

“Mmhm,” she says, looking away with her mouth slightly ajar. Sam pretends not to notice, but her face flushes slightly the next time Andrea looks in her direction.

Something has shifted between them, and Sam can feel it pulling her toward Andrea with relentless strength. She doesn't try to resist, especially when she feels Andrea's eyes on her. She knows better than to expect a confession, or even an explanation, but she can tell Andrea is slipping. For one thing, she keeps glancing over in Sam's direction with coy smiles and gentle wonder, instead of hostility and hatred. Sam's heart beats wildly every time Andrea twists her lips and then changes the subject, surprised to be caught up in whatever thoughts are taking over.

She seems to be operating with her guard down, her bullshit CEO façade left back in National City. And good riddance, Sam thinks. For the first time since Sam has met her, Andrea isn't putting on a front, isn't trying to pry for information or compete in a twisted argument. She's just... herself. She curses like a sailor and knows how to talk sports, and seems completely at ease, like _this_ is actually who she is underneath the Armani dresses and spending accounts. 

Sam gets it, now. She gets why Lena loves her. This is the type of girl who would pull a lonely, broken Lena Luthor out of her teenaged shell and teach her how to be confident. This Andrea is the reason why Lena is able to hold her own in front of anyone. 

Just for that, Sam feels drawn to her even more. 

She glances at her phone again and _fuck_. Now she's got her own personal brand of torture in the form of Andrea Rojas pouting in a selfie and wearing her hat, taken exclusively for her eyes only. That sure is something she never thought she'd be losing her mind over.

Her thoughts are broken up as she hears Andrea shout something to someone behind them.

"Yeah okay asshole, go cry to your mom!" Andrea exclaims, and Sam hopes she isn't accosting an actual child. When she turns around and sees a drunk guy slurring incoherently, she knows Andrea is _probably_ not at fault. At least, not entirely. 

"Te pasaste tres pueblos!" Andrea finishes, gesturing rudely. _You passed by three towns._ Sam recognizes the expression, her cheeks flaring at the silky way the words fall off Andrea's tongue.

"Hey fuck you--"

"She's in therapy," Sam offers, glancing over her shoulder only half-apologetically. The guy behind them crosses his arms and rolls his eyes.

"You're not going to stop until we get kicked out, is that it?" Sam hisses, leaning into Andrea's space.

"My face is all over that ad board," Andrea smirks, leaning back with indignation. "We aren't going anywhere."

Sam glances over to the outfield walls, and the scoreboard, her eyes grazing over Obsidian logos just about everywhere she looks. She doesn't know why she didn't see them earlier, but it makes sense. They own practically everything in the free world, why wouldn't they take up valuable real estate in the outfield? She glances back at Andrea, who is staring at her smugly. 

There's something in her confidence that makes Sam feel hot all over. It's always been particularly pronounced, but the way she seems so at ease, ready to take on the world without an apology, makes her... Fascinating. She used to hate it, the way Andrea could just sit around like she owned the place, but now Sam feels like she could stand to learn a thing or two about the way Andrea doesn't even have to fake it. It's just engrained in her.

"C'mon, I wanna show you something," Andrea says suddenly, standing from her seat. She reaches her arms skyward and stretches, her shirt -- Sam's shirt -- riding up high enough for Sam to definitely take notice of the flash of skin. Andrea glances up toward the mezzanine. It's the 7 th inning stretch, and the Monarchs are in the lead, 3-2. Most people are milling about, using the time to stretch their legs or grab another drink. Sam turns and follows her up the stairs.

"Where are we going?" Sam asks, but Andrea simply waves her on without answering.

They take the escalator to the second level, and continue on across one of the walkways. Just as Sam is about to ask again, Andrea points around the corner, where there's a Do Not Enter sign on the door. 

Sam eyes her, wondering where the hell she thinks they're going, but she decides to shut up and follow. Andrea is clearly not deterred by the warning on the door, entering a code on the keypad next to it. The door unlocks, and she pulls Sam inside.

Andrea turns and grins a triumphant smile as they walk deeper into the room. She flicks on a light and the space comes to life. 

"Ta-da!" she announces, and Sam doesn't know what to do or say. 

There's a huge flat screen TV showing the game against one of the walls, with a leather couch and two chairs surrounding it and a coffee table in the middle. Further into the room, there's a high top bar table with several seats, and along the opposite wall from the TV, there's a long empty counter, presumably for catered food, and a fully stocked bar. 

"Andrea...." Sam stiffens, paranoid that someone is going to find them. 

"What?"

Sam gestures around them, her eyes wild. "The owner's box? We're gonna get caught!"

Andrea tilts her head innocently, eyebrows furrowed with barely a trace of real concern. "By who?"

It's there in her slow smile, and the way she waits expectantly that Sam realizes exactly what's happening. 

"Jesus Christ," Sam covers her face with her hands. _You've got to be kidding me right now_. She exhales, exasperated, letting her hands fall back to her sides. " _You're_ the owner? You could have fucking _started_ with that!"

"I kind of figured you knew," Andrea explains, walking back and closing the door behind her. Sam shakes her head adamantly. "The team has been in our family for years, my father loves baseball. I've been a little more involved with it recently." She walks to the window and leans forward, surveying the action down below. She nods, satisfied, before closing the blinds. She turns back to Sam. 

That explains why she knows everything about the place -- why the vendors all stand a little straighter as she walks by, why she talks about the team like she's got a vested interest in the outcome. Because she _fucking does_. She owns the fucking team, and if that isn't mind blowing enough, somehow Andrea Rojas just became even _hotter_. Now Sam is infinitely grateful they're alone. She isn't sure how much longer she can go without doing something about it.

"You didn't have to sit down in the peasant section with me," Sam jokes, once she's able to formulate a coherent thought. "I feel like such a fucking idiot."

Andrea's chest feels warm at the way Sam's cheeks flush. 

"Oh stop," Andrea waves her off. "I like being down where the action is. Much more authentic. If I heckle the team from up here, no one can hear it. Where's the fun in that?"

Sam nods, unsure, and Andrea watches the way she glances nervously around, like she's trying to contain her excitement. It's sweet and endearing, how she's trying so hard, and instead of making some rude comment, all Andrea wants to do is kiss her. She swallows thickly.

"Next time, I'll get it all set up for us," Andrea promises, and Sam's heart flutters at the mention of next time.

"Well yeah, I can't believe you had me paying for food down there when there's all _this_ ," Sam gestures around. "You really held out on me!"

"I'll cut you a check," Andrea says smartly, and Sam is only half convinced she's kidding.

Andrea busies herself with tossing her sunglasses and Sam's hat on one of the chairs, followed by her jacket. She turns to Sam and locks into a gaze with her endlessly deep, warm eyes. That's probably a mistake, but Andrea already knew it was going to lead to this. She just didn't expect to feel so _much_. This entire day has been a whirlwind, and somehow more intimate than any other time they've spent together. Which is wild, considering their clothes have stayed on. Andrea doesn't know where the limit is, and why it's suddenly so hard to _fight_ , but as Sam smiles slowly, she feels her entire body shiver and unravel. She closes the gap between them, and Sam takes a step back, until Andrea has her bumped up against the opposite wall.

"So....why are we up here now, then?" Sam asks warily, their mouths inches from each other. Her chest rises and falls with every breath. Andrea matches her.

"Because I like the action here, too," Andrea whispers deliberately, her fingers tangled in the fabric of Sam's jersey. The last of her words get lost on Sam's lips.

Sam whimpers against her mouth, and Andrea feels a jolt deep and low in her core. It's like everything she's been fighting against erupts, slow and catastrophic, to the point of no return. She wants Sam so badly she can hardly see straight. Her hands wander down the length of Sam's torso, slipping under her clothing, her fingers stopping to trace the outline of her abdominal muscles. She scratches along her skin just to let Sam know she appreciates the dedication. They're fucking _chiseled_ , and Andrea can barely function as she maneuvers lower. She finally finds the waistband of her jeans, unbuttoning the top and pulling the zipper in an easy motion. Sam smiles against her lips, and Andrea pulls away just enough to stare into her eyes, taking note of the way they're hooded and dark with an intense, fiery _need._ It's the look Sam always gets when they're together, and it sends Andrea soaring. Like it's something reserved specifically for _her_. She intends to make good on that desire as she places her finger on Sam's lips. 

"Sh," she whispers, feeling the blood rushing in her ears. "It's my turn today."

She drops to her knees and Sam's legs start to quiver. She can't believe how sexy it is to see Andrea Rojas kneeling on the ground, ready and willing to go down on her right fucking now. Andrea pulls Sam's jeans down and then stares up, her eyes silently pleading. Sam nods reflexively. 

Andrea settles herself between Sam's legs, her lips and tongue teasing at her thighs. She takes her time trailing kisses up the infinite expanse of Sam's legs, her hands working around Sam's hips, her mouth getting dangerously close to where she desperately wants to be. 

Sam's muscles stiffen slightly against her touch.

"You don't have to--" Sam mumbles, glancing down at her with a concerned face. Like she actually _cares_. Andrea's heart stumbles and starts as she meets Sam's gaze. Her eyes are warm and beautiful, and _God_ , if she would just shut up already and stop being so _nice_ , they wouldn't be in this situation. Andrea wouldn't have to think about it. It's strange, and altogether unnerving, but for once, Andrea doesn't want to beat Sam at anything. 

She just wants _her_.

"Andrea?"

"I want to," Andrea whispers quickly, her eyes fluttering upwards. She catches the way Sam's shoulders relax in relief. "God I want to." She focuses back between Sam's legs and licks her lips. "I _also_ happen to be really good with my mouth." She winks reflexively up at her. 

Sam hisses through her teeth and Andrea can feel the heat radiating off her skin. She rakes her hands over her lower stomach, pulling against her underwear until she has them down low enough to be out of the way. Sam is glistening wet and sexy, her legs quivering with want. Andrea knows she's in control, even from down here, and it's _thrilling_. She doesn't waste another second, pushing her tongue deep into Sam's folds and lapping up every inch that she can cover. Sam moans at the contact, and Andrea loves the way she arches her back and works her fingers through her hair, pulling her desperately closer. Her senses are immediately engulfed in everything _Sam_ \-- tasting the thick desire all over her tongue, feeling the soft heat lap against her face. Sam's hips start to move in a rhythm, and Andrea's mouth works in tandem with Sam's body bucking against her tongue as she devours her. 

"Fuck," Sam exhales. Her head is thrown back against the wall, her eyes closed in contentment. Andrea glances up and smirks, her mouth still working attentively between Sam's legs. She feels warm and tingly as she takes in Sam's expression, the blissed out way her mouth hangs open slightly, the sexy outline of her throat exposed and bobbing as she moans. Andrea's tongue swirls around Sam's swollen clit, sucking against it then pushing deeper inside, desperate for every bit of her, savoring the taste and committing it to memory like she's a fine wine. Andrea's head spins with the way Sam feels in her mouth, the way she tastes, the way she moves. It's intoxicating and Andrea knows now that she's started, she'll never have enough. 

Sam feels Andrea's mouth working her into a frenzy, her tongue flattening and pushing with the perfect amount of pressure. Andrea undersold herself -- she's _beyond_ good with her mouth, Sam thinks, as Andrea picks up the pace. When she manages to open her eyes, she sees Andrea staring up at her, blue eyes glacial with wicked focus, her tongue working magic deep where Sam needs it most. She moves her hips more deliberately, her stomach coiling at the way Andrea accommodates her every thrust. It's a little surreal to be standing here, hidden from the crowd, with the owner of the team on her knees, lapping her up like water in the desert. Sam feels drunk with power and the overwhelming need to strip Andrea down and take over.

"Come up here," Sam mumbles, pulse electric, as she tugs Andrea's shoulders gently. Andrea pauses, pulling away slightly and licking lips that are glistening with Sam's arousal. Sam pulls her the rest of the way up and shifts her hands down to Andrea's hips, lifting her up entirely with a swift, easy motion.

Andrea yelps with surprise, wrapping her legs around Sam's waist and laughing into their kiss. Sam tastes herself on Andrea's lips and pushes her tongue even deeper into her mouth as she grabs her ass.

"You're good at that," Sam husks as they break apart for a beat, before Andrea's lips are pressed back against hers. It strikes her how fantastically wild and unchained Andrea kisses, how she rumbles like a summer storm and hits hard and fast. Sam hasn't felt anything like it, the way it shoots like lightning from her head to her toes, and she allows Andrea to take over completely. "Don't say I never complimented you."

"Fuck-- you're so fucking strong," Andrea breathes, nipping at Sam's lips again with her teeth. She moans as Sam kisses her back before she breathes out, "it's so hot."

"I've wanted you for _weeks_..." Sam whispers, steering them toward the couch. It's a dangerous confession, one she knows she shouldn't be making, but she can't help it anymore. She works Andrea's shirt up over her head, letting her toss it aside as she eases them both down. Her lips never leave Andrea's neck, as she follows on top of her as delicately as possible. Andrea's hands clasp behind Sam's head as she pulls her flush against her body.

"Take me then," she rasps in Sam's ear, sending chills down her spine. Her tongue swirls around her lobe, her breath hot against the sensitive spot high on her neck. "I'm all yours."

Sam practically unravels at that, because there aren't enough words to describe how absolutely sinful Andrea looks underneath her, her lips full and pouting, her body wanting. It's the first time she's stared at Andrea and felt more than just vengeful lust. She's torn between wanting to take her time, and needing to take her completely apart. Her brain feels like it's short circuiting, but all she can do is keep her composure as her fingers work underneath Andrea's shirt, grazing along smooth, soft skin. She pauses over the toned lines in Andrea's stomach, scratching along the indents between her ribs, memorizing the map of her body through every touch. She listens to the hitch in Andrea's breath as she trails kisses lower, down along the crest of her hip and to the top of her jeans. She taps on the belt loop and Andrea shifts her hips upward, allowing for Sam to unzip them and pull them down roughly, underwear and all, working them off her legs with a final flourish. She tosses them carelessly over her shoulder, and runs her hands back over her stomach, bringing her face lower and fluttering kisses along the spaces between her hips. 

"You're so sexy..." Sam breathes, her tongue tracing the outline of her hip as she works back to her lower stomach. 

"Sam--"

"I know, I know, no talking..." Sam mutters, raising herself up as she slowly edges Andrea's legs further apart with the backs of her hands, slotting her hips between them.

"No--" Andrea says. She looks away, her cheeks flushed. Sam pauses, her heart pounding. When Andrea looks back, her face is determined, her eyes pleading. "Tell me more."

Something in Sam's chest shifts, and she feels all the resistance crumble. All her feelings flood to the surface, and she's overwhelmed by everything _Andrea_.She hasn't felt this way in so long, ready to erupt with emotions that she can't even identify. Her finger trails dangerously close to Andrea's entrance, tracing along her slick heat, her own pulse pounding between her legs as she feels how badly Andrea wants it.

"You feel so fucking good..." Sam says into her skin, licking a trail from the valley of her sternum to the hollow of her throat. "I can't get enough of you."

"Fuck..."

"You're so wet for me," Sam purrs in her ear, her fingers tracing delicately, still relentlessly teasing. "That drives me _crazy_."

"Yeah?" Andrea pants, her hips bucking against Sam's hand, silently begging. Sam nods, her finger inching only slightly deeper. Andrea whimpers against her. "I want to feel you."

"You know what I need to hear," Sam says heavily, her hands hovering right on the edge of everything she wants to give Andrea. But she wants to tease, wants to push, wants to hear Andrea really _ask_ for it. 

Andrea bites her lip, wincing, and for a moment, Sam thinks she's going to refuse. Her breaths come fast and hard as she inhales deeply, before releasing.

"Please?" Andrea whispers, her face soft, eyes pleading. Sam barely waits for her to finish asking, before she pushes two fingers deep into her slick, velvety heat, her exhalation matching the moan coming from Andrea's throat.

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" Sam teases, thrusting faster, moving Andrea's entire body with the force. She hisses at the way Andrea's nails scrape against her shoulders, but she keeps the pace steady, pounding hard and fast, the way she knows Andrea likes it.

"Oh fuck," Andrea says, her eyes rolling back, as Sam curls her fingers upward, stroking expertly inside. "You're so fucking good at that..."

She feels the way Andrea clenches around her fingers, tightening without any control, as her thighs shake uncontrollably. Sam moves her hips in time with each curl of her fingers, and Andrea stares up at her with eyes glistening. Sam knows it isn't going to be long. She has Andrea worked up with just a few touches, and if she was the bragging type, this would absolutely be added to her list of accomplishments. 

"I'm so close," Andrea moans as her nails dig further into Sam's shoulders. Her eyes flutter closed, pinching tightly. Sam continues to work her, marveling at how incredibly sexy it looks to see her on her back, writhing.

Outside, the crowd erupts into a long, steady cheer as the Monarchs close out the game with a victory. Up in the sky box, Andrea Rojas comes completely undone, clutching desperately to a leather couch and moaning Sam Arias' name.

\---

“Thanks for coming with me,” Sam says later, adjusting her hat as they stand awkwardly outside her front door. They're a little late getting back, considering the extra innings the two of them spent together. Sam smiles, turning to Andrea fully. "This was....different."

Andrea stiffens. "Yeah well, don't get used to it."

"Easy--" Sam reaches out and touches her shoulder, her eyes impossibly soft and pleading. She's so kind and _gentle_ , and dammit all to hell, Andrea's heart flutters. "Lower your weapon, lady. I meant it was good. I--" Sam stumbles, like she isn't sure what to say. Andrea's heart pounds heavily, a jolt of adrenaline rocketing through her veins as she recalls in vivid detail what exactly they were just doing a few moments earlier. Sam offers a sheepish smile, like she must have been thinking something similar. "I really had fun with you."

“Yeah," Andrea hums quietly. "I didn’t entirely hate that.”

“Careful, you might actually say something nice,” Sam teases, her nose scrunching in that stupid, adorable way she has. 

Andrea snorts. “And then you wouldn’t have a reason to hate me."

"Oh, I'd find other reasons, I'm sure."

They both chuckle at that, gazing at each other timidly. They're like sexy strangers now, and Andrea feels the shyness kick in, which is something she hasn't felt since she was a _teenager_. Like all of a sudden she doesn't know how to act. Even though she was quite literally just naked with this girl not five minutes earlier, she feels more exposed here, standing in front of her and trying to figure out what words to say that won't sound ridiculous. It was so much easier when their conversations were veiled insults, when she only had to acknowledge Sam's existence in order to get a rise out of her. When she could watch her leave her bedroom through hooded eyes after being completely sated and avoid having to explain herself. 

But now, they're hovering, teetering on the edge of something very date-like, and even her most deliberate attacks have been reduced to an almost affectionate banter. 

What the actual _fuck_ is happening to her? 

“I don’t really want to hate you, you know,” Sam admits softly, her cheeks blushing slightly as she looks away, avoiding Andrea's face. 

“So stop.” Andrea tries to follow Sam's eyes.

“What about you?” Sam looks up again, frowning.

“What about me?” Andrea rolls her eyes. Now it's her turn to glance down at the ground. “I’ve never hated you.”

“You’re full of shit,” Sam challenges, eyebrow arching as she crosses her arms.

“It’s...complicated,” Andrea acknowledges, huffing an impatient breath. She's distracted now by her phone, which is buzzing impatiently in her hand. Thank God for small miracles. “But it’s also all you’re getting out of me. Hello?”

Andrea turns her back, listening intently on the phone, and all Sam can think is _wow_. Suddenly, her emotions are chugging like a freight train, and she knows what it means, but she desperately wants to be wrong. There's no way in hell she can have actual _feelings_ for Andrea, right? But it's also impossible to ignore something that makes her feel like she has legitimate super powers.

She's really done it now. But for the first time in a long time, when she stares at Andrea, she doesn't think about anyone else.

“Fuck!” Andrea yells suddenly, staring at her phone. “God, these people. Can no one do their job?”

“What’s up?”

“I have to get back,” she says, exasperated, her fingers flying as she punches at her screen. “Stupid fucking security breach.”

Sam nods, her throat closing with disappointment. It's probably for the best that Andrea leaves now, she reasons, otherwise who knows where they'll end up?

Andrea makes another call, barking orders at some unfortunate soul on the other end, her tongue sharp and eyes blazing. Sam tries to ignore the way her stomach churns with _want_. When she's finished, Andrea turns to look over her shoulder, bites her lip and swears again. “God. You have some nerve---"

"What?"

Andrea turns to face her fully, gesturing over her while she takes a step closer. She fumbles with the button on Sam's jersey before pushing her away slightly. "You just-- you fucking owe me, okay? I didn't come across the country to only go one round.”

Sam's face burns, and the butterflies scatter throughout her entire core. "You're insatiable."

"What about it?" Andrea's eyebrow arches sharply, and Sam grins.

"Answer my texts once in awhile, maybe?" Sam retorts, chuckling once she says it. She's more willing to let their weird tension be a joke rather than a serious conversation at this point. She feels like things are already too _much_ between them. With a smile she adds, "take care, Andy."

"Fuck off," Andrea pouts, her eyes crinkling slightly. The nickname sits between them playfully, and it doesn't feel entirely wrong the way it should. She nods slowly and gives a serious look, one Sam is learning to mean she's being honest. "And I will. Bye, Sam."

As her car pulls up and she starts to get inside, she pauses and looks back. Her eyes soften, and with a quiet smile she nods. "Thanks, by the way," she says, her cheeks blushing. "For letting me join you."

Sam hums in shocked satisfaction, because was that Andrea actually _thanking_ her? Hell has certainly frozen over. She doesn't even know what to do besides wave dumbly. "Anytime."

When Andrea's car is out of sight, Sam returns inside, closing the door on the outside world and wondering how exactly she's going to get back to normal. Her heart is still soaring, the smile on her face dopey and permanent, against all her better efforts to keep it contained. This moment feels decisive, as her feelings spool intricate patterns in a web around her heart. For the first time, she realizes she can't just cut and run and pretend like this isn't _something_.

Andrea Rojas, she thinks to herself, staring at the ceiling. Who would have thought?

\---

Two nights later, there's another knock on her door. This one is feathery light, like a breeze, and for a moment, Sam thinks she must be hearing things. But it comes again, a little firmer, and Sam flicks on the hallway light. It's too late for it to be a delivery, she thinks, as she glances at her watch. 10PM. Her pulse quickens at the thought of what _else_ it could be, and she hurries to answer.

“I knew you’d be back for--" 

The words die on her lips as she stumbles slightly, catching herself against the frame. She clears her throat, trying to get control of the shock ricocheting against all corners of her belly. 

“Lena?”

Sam has to blink several times just to make sure it's really her, but the mirage doesn't disappear. Lena Luthor herself is standing at her door, looking as dashing and beautiful as ever. Sam sucks in a breath, as her heart flutters uncontrollably, her gut turning somersaults like a gymnast. There's something about being caught off guard by Lena Luthor that Sam will _never_ conquer. What a fucking fantastic reminder.

Sometimes, if she knows Lena's coming, she can prepare; she can almost quell the strong wave of nervous heat that threatens to take her out to sea. She can brace her muscles, she can clench her jaw, she can shield her heart and she can _handle_ it. But if Lena just shows up out of the blue, her beautiful sharp features reflected regally in the moonlight, her soft pouting lips and long, delicate eyelashes, looking at her like she's _spectacular,_ then Sam will always need to pause and put herself back together. 

She thought she was doing a great job handling this. Truly. Their fractured relationship wasn't keeping her up at night anymore, and that was progress. She was going through the motions, she was okay.

(And, if she happens to have a delicious distraction in the form of someone sinfully addicting that she absolutely shouldn't be spending time with, well, then, who could blame her?)

She gives Lena another cursory once-over . She's a vision in skin tight designer jeans that still cost more than Sam's salary, and a black blouse tucked in such a way that the outline of her hips are unavoidable.  Sam's knees buckle. She can't believe how Andrea can have her body throbbing and her head spinning, but the sight of Lena is _still_ enough to stop her heart.

“Hi,” Lena gives a small, self-conscious smile, holding up a bottle of Sam’s favorite wine, a Sonoma red from a vineyard they visited years ago. Nice touch, Sam thinks. “Peace offering?”

Sam shakes her head and grins in spite of herself, the relief rushing through her as she opens the door.

Lena takes her time, hovering in the foyer and slowly discarding her heels. It's a simple act, but Sam can tell she still feels comfortable enough to shed her armor when they're together. That still means something. _She_ still means something.

Sam's suddenly thankful she spent extra hours at the office tonight, because at the very least she's still put together in her black blazer and pants, her green shirt a very close shade to Lena's eyes. She curses the similarity. 

"This is big of you," Sam tries to tease, even though it comes out a little caustic. She walks quickly to the kitchen, immediately busying herself with finding a bottle opener. Anything to avoid looking at Lena's flawless face. She just needs a fucking _minute_. "A text message would have been fine."

"No it wouldn't," Lena says quietly from behind her. Sam pauses, glancing over her shoulder. Lena's head is tilted, her eyes soft with sincerity. So it's going to be like _that_ , Sam realizes. "It isn't right, the way I've been treating you."

"No, it isn't," Sam agrees. She turns back to stare at the bottle of wine, her heart pounding in her ears as she tries to calm down. The anger is still there, palpable now that the initial shock of Lena's visit is settling in. She turns for her liquor cabinet, pulling out a bottle of Macallan scotch that Lena had gifted her once upon a time. Lena eyes her with a quiet uptick of her eyebrow. "Something tells me we need something a little stronger," Sam explains, shrugging it off.

Lena hums quietly, taking the glass as they go into the living room. Lena glances around the place. She hasn't been here in a long time. Too long, she realizes with a pang of guilt. It looks mostly the same as she remembers: big, bright, cozy, filled with love and warmth. Filled with _Sam_. There are less pictures of them hanging around now, and more bottles of wine, but it's still the same place she pictures when she wants to feel at peace. 

Sam takes a seat on the couch, reclining casually as her wrist moves her glass in slow circles. Her watch reflects off the overhead light -- a solid gold piece -- and Lena can't help but wonder who gave it to her. It's a silly thing to think about, but it works its way into her thoughts, tugging at the frayed ends of her insecurity just a tiny bit more. 

A rush of nostalgia claws at the back of her throat, and Lena stares down at her drink. She takes a sip, allowing the sting to overwhelm the dull ache in her chest.

Strong, capable, confident Sam. Now that she's here, it strikes her just how badly she's been missing her, missing _this_. And not just because of her recent bad behavior. She regrets everything that ever happened between them. How she handled moving out to Metropolis -- or, more appropriately, _didn't_ handle it -- rushing away to clean up after her brother and never once offering any true closure between them. No explanations, no long drawn out battles. She drew a line in the sand and never once wanted Sam to cross it, even though she would have been altogether too willing. 

And that was always the problem. 

Lena could never _do_ that. She could never pull Sam down with her, could never sully something so _pure_. So she walked away as best as she could, and only looked back when she felt it was safe.

She wishes she could explain, wishes she could undo her mistakes, but she's lucky Sam even takes her calls at all. There aren't enough words to express her gratitude, or her shortcomings, so she tries to contain it all and keep it untouched in tiny, little boxes. 

And it was working, until it wasn't. 

"It was fucked up for you to freeze me out," Sam starts off, her voice quiet but determined. "If you want me to do my job, you can at least answer my phone calls."

"It won't happen again," Lena promises. "That was petty, even by Luthor standards." She tries to flash a dark, self-deprecating smile, but Sam clenches her jaw to ward off the effect.

"If we're going to work together, we can't let this happen," Sam says sternly, riding the momentum. "What goes on in our personal lives can't affect our day to day. We talked about this ages ago, when I first signed on. I thought we were past all that."

"Absolutely." Lena agrees. She flattens her lips into a tired smile. "We're professionals."

"I can deal with you being mad at me," Sam says through gritted teeth. She doesn't _want_ to, but that ship has definitely sailed. "I mean, I've survived worse." She gives a very pointed stare, pausing to let Lena really think about it. She notices the way her eyes soften with the blow. "And outside of work, we don't have to be friends. Hell, we don't even have to talk," Sam points out. She knows it's the right thing, to offer Lena an out, but she hates every word as they slip past her lips. "Regardless of our relationship status, I never said I was leaving L-Corp."

Lena stiffens, swallowing her sip of scotch with a pronounced wince. She places the glass down on the table with shaky hands.

"Is that...what you want?"

"I don't know," Sam says, avoiding her eyes. "I don't know what I want, but you don't have to tread lightly because you think I'm going to quit. That's why you're really here, right? To make sure I don't walk?"

"You're more to me than just an employee, Sam," Lena says sincerely. "You know that."

"I'm not, though," Sam scoffs, taking another strong sip. "You made sure of that."

"Sam--" 

"You just always make it seem so easy," Sam interrupts, feeling the frustration ignite deep in her chest. The words she's been aching to say for so long bubble on the surface. "So that's what I'm trying to do, too. Make it easy."

"What's easy?"

"Walking away from me!" she bursts, her emotions suddenly going haywire. She tries to keep it controlled, but the way Lena looks at her with such a soft, inquisitive expression, makes her want to explode. "Every time you pull away, you always leave me behind! It's so easy for you to close the door..."

Sam trails off, downing the rest of her scotch, allowing it to burn in her throat. She can't fully articulate the pain and resentment she has been storing against Lena. It has sat and festered for years, and even though she's maneuvered around it, and avoided it, it's still there -- perfectly present and accounted for. She doesn't _want_ to be upset with her. She wants to go back to when they were happy, when things were fun, when they were _them_. But Lena refuses, constantly pushing forward, constantly pushing aside their relationship and their feelings for something grander. Chasing a legacy that doesn't seem to involve Sam at all, except for her cursory obligations as a CFO. She's so _tired_ all of a sudden, that she doesn't even have the energy to finish her argument. 

Lena looks up after a long pause, her eyes glistening. She looks around, her shoulders slumping in defeat. "I -- " she starts, sniffling once. "That's not true."

"It is."

"It's never been easy," Lena argues, eyes flashing dangerously. "I-- I couldn't forget about you. I'll never be able to forget about you. I think about you _constantly_."

Sam glances up. Her heart clenches, and she inhales sharply.

"I worry about you, I wonder about you," Lena says, blinking furiously. "I care so much about you. I've developed a fantastically unhealthy habit of stalking your social media," Lena chuckles at herself ruefully. "Quite the activity feed happening there."

"You've never said any of this," Sam says, studying her face, trying to figure out what she's really thinking. "I can't tell if I'm flattered or annoyed."

"Mostly it's because I miss you, but then it was because I was jealous. I _am_ jealous," Lena admits, her lips twisting as she pauses, like she's contemplating just how much to confess. "Of whatever is happening with you and Andrea."

"Ah."

"That's on me," Lena insists. "Not on you. It's not my place to tell you who you can and can't talk to. I know that now, and I'm sorry for it. "

"Damn right you can't," Sam replies, feeling strangely protective of what she has going on with Andrea, her fiery walls of defense being contained in her chest as she crosses her arms. It lights her up inside that Lena's jealousy is the only thing bringing her back to grovel at her doorstep. 

Lena gives her a lopsided smile as she glances across the room. She eyes the Metropolis Monarchs blanket hanging off the chair directly to her left. "You know, there's a benefit to being friends with her," she mentions casually as she caresses the fabric. Sam feels the guilt of their dalliance weigh heavily on her bones. "Her family owns the team. She could probably get you tickets sometime."

She smiles tentatively, like an apology, and Sam is sure she means it as a helpful suggestion. It aches in places it shouldn't.

"I'll uh--" Sam clears her throat. Flashes of Andrea writhing underneath her dance before her eyes. And oh, how sexy and completely inconvenient _that_ is right now. "I'll keep that in mind."

"She's better than she acts," Lena says nonchalantly, carrying on in defense of Andrea for no particular reason. "And I think she's good for you, in whatever way you choose."

"So are you playing matchmaker or are you against me seeing her? Because whatever this is," Sam gestures over Lena, "is the definition of a mixed message."

"I'm just _saying_ ," Lena emphasizes, her smirk plastered professionally on her face. "I know what she's really about. She's more than just sarcasm and idle threats. She can be..." Lena tilts her head up, thoughtfully. Her grin is filled with something Sam can't quite decode, like Lena is chewing on a secret. "Sweet. Loyal. She's incredibly generous. Her bark is stronger than her bite."

“Lena, if it's all the same to you, I don’t really want to get into it,” Sam deflects. It feels wrong and weird to be going on and on about Andrea to her ex-girlfriend that she's most likely (definitely) still a little (a lot) in love with. 

“No,” Lena holds up her hands. “I know. I’m sorry. I didn't come here to talk about her.”

"So why _are_ you here?"

Lena wrings her hands nervously, her drink long forgotten. Sam knows this to be her tell -- when she wants to say something particularly daring. She clears her throat. "I came to tell you that I want you back in National City."

The room goes silent for a second. All Sam hears is the faint tick-tick-ticking from her watch, clicking along in time with her own heartbeat. This is not exactly something she expected to hear Lena ever say. _"You're fired",_ maybe, or _"I'm selling L-Corp"_ , sure, or even _"I know what you're really up to with Andrea",_ fine. 

But this? Sam shakes her head, sure she's going crazy.

"What?"

Lena sniffles, swallowing heavily. She takes a breath and nods to herself. "I'm sorry. I hate how everything has become so twisted between us, but I want you in National City. I don't -- you should have been with me from the beginning."

"You're talking about for work or...?"

"I'm talking about in any way you want to be," Lena says sincerely, her voice dipping low and quiet, like she's confessing a secret.

It isn't fair for her to do this, to come in here and try to steal back what isn't hers, and she knows it. But the words tumble out of their own accord anyway. Being here is overwhelming, surrounded by all things Sam and what they used to have. What they used to _mean._ She never wanted to break Sam's heart, but she also knew she could never give her what she needed. She still isn't sure if she can, or if their relationship can stand another try, but the way her heart aches, she doesn't know what else to do. At least she isn't too proud to beg, but to what end? 

"Lena..."

"Just think about it, okay?" Lena asks. "I know it's a lot to consider, but I'm telling you I'd really like to have you there."

It feels like Lena has dropped a bomb on the room, and all of Sam's thoughts scatter in a chaotic jumble. She stands up, reaching for both their glasses, mumbling about a refill. She takes her time pouring the amber liquid, staring at it harshly as she hears the words run over and over in her mind. _I want you in National City_. Her heart beats forcefully like a jackhammer as she considers the implications. Are they getting back together? Is it out of guilt? Why would Lena show up here, in the middle of the week, weepy and apologetic after so much time has passed? Not only the last few weeks of icy silence, but the several years since their relationship ended. She never once wanted to acknowledge _why_ \-- she just always sat idly by, assuring Sam it was the right thing to do. 

"I'll think about it," Sam says dumbly, as she hands Lena another glass. She swirls her own drink contemplatively, wondering how the fuck she's going to justify moving to National City at Lena's half-assed request. But it's Lena, so of course she'll consider it. Damn her stupid, big heart. "So this is what you do when you're not talking to me? Think of ways to completely catch me off guard in the middle of the night?"

Lena chuckles at that, glaring at her in that almost-playful way she has that always makes Sam's stomach flutter with uncontrolled nervous energy. She wants so badly to be on the receiving end of a flirtatious Lena Luthor smirk for _other_ reasons -- reasons that don't sit heavily on her chest, but rather dance between them lightly, the way they used to. When Lena thought Sam was handsome, and Sam thought Lena was dazzling, and the two of them could ignore the world for awhile and just...be. 

“I just wish I knew what you were really thinking. It’s so hard,” Sam says, the truth slipping faster now through lips warmed with scotch. “It’s so hard to just act like everything is fine when I don’t _get_ it--"

“I know,” Lena says. “I know.” She's standing now, pacing back and forth, a far cry from her boardroom bravado. “I’ve never been good at feelings.”

“But you were always good at us,” Sam urges. Lena turns and makes a face, rolling her eyes like it's unbelievable. “No, you were, I’m serious. You were so good. You were patient, and sweet for the most part," Sam winks and Lena blushes. "You were _everything_ to me. I just miss you. I miss you so fucking much sometimes.”

“I miss you too,” Lena says softly. She bites her lip, her eyes trailing from Sam's eyes down to her legs with a dramatically slow cadence. "You'll never truly know how much."

"I've waited so long for you to say that..." Sam says, her voice watery. She tries to choke back the feelings. She can't cry right now. She _won't_. Lena doesn't get to have that kind of satisfaction. "I don't get why you won't just come back...."

Lena's chin quivers, but she doesn't answer. Instead, she looks away, out the window at nothing but the darkness.

It feels unbearably heavy, and Sam doesn't want to force it anymore. It's a miracle Lena has even confessed to this much, but to get her to completely unravel and admit to her feelings might come at a steep price. 

"You know what, let's take a break..." Sam says, her voice trailing as she slaps her knees to jolt herself up. She turns to her record player, setting the needle and getting it to start. The scratchy sounds of the record begin to play throughout the room. "You're here now. And maybe we can't fix everything but let's just--" She turns to Lena and holds out her hand. "Come here."

Lena allows Sam's warm hand to envelop hers, allows herself to be pulled in close. She nestles in to Sam's chest, closing her eyes as Carole King croons in the background. _Home Again_. They sway slowly, Sam's height shielding her from everything, keeping her grounded, right where she needs to be. She listens to the steady beat of Sam's heart, and her own heart feels torn in two. She knows she shouldn't be doing this. She's playing a dangerous game: toying with Sam's feelings when she can't even articulate her own. But it feels so safe and so familiar to be wrapped in Sam's strong arms, and Lena has always been weak for _this_. Sweet Sam, who would never, ever hurt her. She sighs, leaning into the easy scent of amber lavender, a mixture of Sam's cologne and laundry detergent. It washes over her, scrubbing away her insecurities as the beat carries her away. 

She knows Sam deserves to be courted. She deserves to be put first, to be given everything, even if she would never accept it. Lena knows all of this, but doesn't know if she will ever be able to be that person. Sam deserves better than her.

She has always deserved better than her.

"I fully accept the blame for what happened to us," Lena admits quietly, pulling back and whispering into the crook of Sam's neck. "It was never you."

"That doesn't really help me fix it, though," Sam says, speaking over her head

Her lips graze lightly over Lena's hair, and she hovers for just a second, closing her eyes and pretending this is another dance, another time. The floral hint of her shampoo transports Sam back to when raven locks were splayed over her pillow consistently, her bed a constant reminder of _them_. She squeezes Lena gently, her fingers ghosting over the curve in her lower back so as not to startle her away. She wants to capture this moment, keep it sacred for another time, as she tries to memorize every line of Lena's body, exactly as it fits against her own. 

"I don't know how we can," Lena sighs, running her fingers carefully over the perfectly starched collar of Sam's suit. Her right hand scratches idly at the back of Sam's neck, sending a chill straight through her core. "I ruin everything I touch, Sam. I don't want to ruin you, too."

"I think that's a cop out, Lena."

The song ends, and the room goes quiet. Lena hangs her head, scoffing at herself quietly. Sam stiffens. It suddenly feels claustrophobic and overwhelming, the fantasy shattering around them. They're spinning in circles and going nowhere. Sam gently pulls away and they break slowly apart. She turns to the record player and shuts it off, before turning to face Lena again.

“I’m finally okay… and I can’t be okay with this.”

“Are you happy?” Lena asks, her voice dropping lower.

“No,” Sam says defiantly. “But I’m okay, and I didn’t think I ever would be. And it’s not fair for you to come and do this now. Especially because I can tell you're not sure why you're really asking me to move out there.”

"How can you say that--?"

"Because it wasn't until I started to fall for someone else that you even looked in my direction again! Do you know how _manipulative_ that is?"

She surprises herself with the outburst, the words not even fully registering until she sees the stricken look on Lena's face, wide-eyed and jolted like she'd just been slapped. 

Lena nods several times, the muscles of her jaw fluttering as she clenches. "I'm selfish," she whispers, a wry, sad smile on her lips. "I know that. I never claimed to be a saint."

They stare at each other in contentious silence. Sam doesn't know what to do or say, the strange confession hanging between them like a ghost. She wants to tell Lena to leave, but at the same time, there's a small, weak voice pleading with her to be patient. To just hold on. She feels like they're so _close_. She's waited so _long_.

They tore themselves apart over years, surely they can't expect to be put together in a night.

"It's late," Sam says finally, checking her watch. "The guest room is open, do you want to stay?"

"Oh, that's okay, I don't want to put you out--"

"I think I just need a minute," Sam tries again. "I need to sleep on this. But I want you here. I-- can you stay?"

Lena nods once. "Alright."

"And we can talk in the morning?"

"Okay," Lena says quietly.

Sam goes up to her room and gathers some clothes, leaving them on the guest room bed while Lena closes herself in the bathroom. She tries not to imagine Lena's pre-bed routine, the one that she has memorized, from all the time spent behind closed doors, whispering late into the night, their tooth-brushed smiles and lazy kisses carrying them into the early morning hours. She shuts the door quietly, hoping against hope that Lena will still be there when she wakes up in the morning. 

It's the right thing to do. She will just keep reminding herself of that. She can't act on thoughts that are muddled with anger, sadness and scotch. It isn't fair to either of them. Despite her desperate _longing_ to curl up by Lena's side, to hold her close and kiss the weary lines away from under her eyes, to gently peel away every layer keeping them apart, to feel her skin on Sam's own again, her breath hot in Sam's ear, her name rushing off parted lips... she forces herself to leave. 

With her fist curled up, she taps the door once in frustration and turns away. She turns and slides down the wall, her back pressed against it, coming to a rest on the floor.

She will always _want_. And that's just how it's going to be. 

In the guest room, Lena curls up under the covers, her body enveloped in everything Sam. She pulls Sam's old MIT t-shirt up over her nose, inhaling Sam's fresh, clean scent, allowing it to take over her body in the way she wishes Sam's hands would, while the tears fall freely down her cheeks.

She doesn't know what she hoped for, or what she's still hoping for, but laying here alone, surrounded by everything she lost, is certainly not it. 

Sam remains on the other side of the door, frozen in place, her fingers idly rotating around the long forgotten engagement ring that she has never brought herself to throw away. 

Not even after everything fell apart. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You'll always have a place to stay with me," she says earnestly, walking her to the door. They pause at the threshold and Sam nudges her gently. "You forget that we were friends first, you know?"
> 
> "Friends," Lena half-sighs, her eyelashes fluttering wickedly. "You have horrible taste."
> 
> "So you've said."
> 
> sam and lena continue their emotional song and dance until sam brings them back to reality. meanwhile, andrea knows she's in too deep but can't seem to get enough...and everything gets real when all three (+ jack) find themselves at the charity gala for the luthor children's hospital. 
> 
> after leaving alone, sam is stuck wondering - what exactly does she want?

Sam sits outside the room until her legs fall asleep, until the shadows on the wall begin to play tricks with her mind, curling around themselves and moving in indecipherable patterns. She blinks herself awake, listening intently for any sound of movement behind the door.

Only silence seems to answer.

After a beat, she pulls herself back to standing, the tingling down her legs a warning for the rush of pain she's about to feel. She steels herself and opens the door quietly.

"Lena?" she whispers softly as she approaches the bed. Part of her hopes Lena is asleep, that she doesn't hear the heaviness in her voice or the way the name quivers on her lips. But of course, she knows better than to think Lena would ever allow herself a moment of peace.

The form under the covers stirs as Lena turns over, eyes glistening as she faces Sam. Her lips turn down in a questioning frown, the moonlight peeking through the blinds just enough to illuminate every last exquisite feature of her face. Sam inhales sharply.

"I just--" Sam says, gesturing vaguely. There isn't really an explanation, but somehow there doesn't need to be one. She points to the side of the bed. "Can I sit with you?"

"Of course," Lena says, voice raspy with sleep and something deeper, more permanent. Sam tries to push that thought away as Lena clears her throat and shifts herself over to make room. Sam places herself carefully and particularly on the bed, angling herself gently down so she isn't encroaching, planting herself just enough to be there.

She notices her old college sweatshirt drooping off Lena's shoulder the way it always did. Lena tugs at it self-consciously, eyeing Sam with a cautious glance before offering an apologetic grin. Sam gives her a knowing smile and Lena relaxes.

It's always been safe here, the two of them, curled up under covers away from the world. Lena feels Sam's warmth, marveling at the way it still has the same soothing, cathartic effect, even after all this time.

Lena is an expert in many things, but love has never been one of them. How could it, when she's never had a genuine model of her own to emulate? Still, throughout her life, she's followed her heart blindly and without reason. But surely, being in Sam's orbit can only be a good thing.

Is it enough to love someone because they're a safe haven?

"Is everything okay?" Lena eventually asks, curling her hand under her ear and propping herself to face Sam.

"I don't want to talk," Sam confesses quietly, shaking her head and willing the tears to freeze behind her eyes. The sudden emotion isn't surprising, but still not something she wants to contend with.

"We don't have to," Lena assures her, a small smile on her lips. She somehow manages to shift impossibly closer, without moving at all. With a low murmur she whispers, "show me what you want."

Everything feels so close -- so tantalizingly within reach that Sam has to physically strain against herself for fear of disturbing the moment. She knows she can have it if she wants it, that Lena is not going to refuse her tonight, even if it means facing uncertainty tomorrow. And she's almost willing to throw caution to the wind for just one more time - one more sentence in their story.

Time moves slowly, so slowly that she doesn't even know what happens next. She doesn't know if Lena moves closer, or if it's her, if it's Lena's lips that crash into hers, or if it's her own mouth that finds its way in the dark. All she feels is Lena's hands pulling against her neck, and her tongue gently probing into her mouth, and she sighs heavily into it.

It's different now, with a heaviness that suggests a past the two of them can't seem to escape. But she pushes it out of her mind and kisses back with everything she has, eliciting a whimper from Lena's lips that send goosebumps down her arms.

"Sam...." Lena whispers against her lips as Sam hovers over her, careful not to press too hard. She feels the way Lena arches into her, pulling her still closer, and for one glorious moment she forgets there has ever been space between them at all.

"I shouldn't..." Sam mumbles, her mouth trailing along Lena's jaw and down her neck.

"You shouldn't," Lena agrees, making no moves to stop her, and instead angling her head back against the pillows and exposing the column of her throat for Sam's mouth to ravage. Sam runs her tongue up the sensitive spot, pausing and kissing at every freckle along the way before capturing her lips once more. She's almost delirious with the nostalgia of it all -- the way this used to feel, the way Lena is still partially _hers_ \-- that she almost doesn't realize that she's comparing it to something else. Something hot and volatile turns her stomach, clawing at the edges, the emotions raw and undefined. While delighting in the feeling with Lena, she's also comparing it to someone different. Never in a million years did she think she'd be here, with Lena in her arms again, and her thoughts drifting toward the opposite coast.

Sam pulls away reluctantly, searching Lena's eyes. They're hooded and dazed, clearly not processing the sudden onslaught of activity. Sam chuckles, embarrassed, as she tries to find the words for what just happened.

It isn't a mistake, but it doesn't feel the same, either. Like a door closing, or a chapter ending. A good bye, instead of something new. This day was always inevitable, but Sam is surprised that it doesn't feel as devastating as she assumed it would.

"I don't want it like this," Sam says, squeezing her eyes closed. She doesn't want to look at Lena's face because she might break apart completely. "I don't want it when it's inevitably a goodbye."

"I--" Lena starts to argue, but she stops herself. Sam opens her eyes, studying her curiously. Lena looks torn, like she wants to say something to convince them both that this is right. But instead she bites her lip, huffing out a breath. "I love you, you know," she says weakly. "I really do, Sam."

"But not in the way I need," Sam rehearses Lena's well-worn excuse back to her, but not with animosity. It sits between them, insurmountable, and neither of them can argue their way around it. Lena frowns, lost in a world of her own. "I know, Lena."

"I didn't come here for the right reasons," Lena eventually admits shyly. She's vulnerable like this, her lips swollen from Sam's mouth. She's still absolutely regal, and Sam's heart swells with a love that she knows will never fully leave.

"I also know that," Sam replies. And she does. Neither of them are here for the right reasons. That doesn't make it easy to avoid, it just makes it...them. They've fallen into toxicity, and she recognizes that now, too. The constant hot and cold, the tension between them and the heavy handed push and pull making a mess of their lives. They've both turned to bad patterns, bad habits, but Sam feels grounded now. Enough that she doesn't have to be swept away again.

"You're too nice to me," Lena whispers, her fingers gently pushing strands of Sam's hair behind her ear. Her touch lingers against her cheek, and Sam's eyes flutter closed. She used to love when Lena would be soft with her, looking at her like she was perfect. "I don't deserve it."

"You beat yourself up more than I ever could," Sam grins, opening her eyes again. She extends her arms and Lena smiles, falling into her embrace easily. Sam hugs her close.

They stay like that for awhile, their breaths synchronized as they come down from their mistakes. They sit in silence, each one contemplating things a million miles away.

"I'm not going to move to National City," Sam finally declares softly into the darkness. She isn't even sure if Lena is still awake, but if she doesn't say it now, she might lose her nerve. "I can't keep chasing you."

Lena's eyes are closed, her breath steady and even. "I know you can't," she says after a long pause. "I don't fault you for it."

"Can we just have this?" Sam asks, placing a gentle kiss on the top of Lena's head, inhaling the scent of her jasmine shampoo and pretending this is all she needs.

Lena melts further into her embrace, and they eventually fall asleep that way: tangled in each other, but with enough care not to push the boundary again. Sam knows all she's doing is testing her own resolve. But somehow, it's easier to resist than it ever used to be.

Somehow, she's able to breathe.

The first lights of dawn begin to trail into the room, and Sam stirs herself awake. She detangles herself from Lena's sleeping form, silently slipping out from under the covers and off the bed. She pauses by the side table, and she places the discarded ring from their failed engagement on the top. It isn't a statement as much as a conclusion. She's finally able to walk away, leaving only a memory behind.

A few hours later, when Lena rouses herself from a dreamless sleep, her eyes come to focus on the piece of jewelry left on the end table. She reaches for it, holding the ring in her fingers and studying it with curiosity. She remembers that night like it was yesterday, the way Sam's voice shook with nervousness, the way her lips trembled when Lena kissed her. She remembers the tears streaming down both their faces, Sam's for pure elation, and Lena knowing in her heart that Sam deserved better. But she wanted it so badly, wanted to have a little bit of warmth all to herself. Sam has always been proof that part of Lena wasn't ruined, until she quite ceremoniously decided to ruin them both.

She knows Sam is moving on without her, now, and it makes her chest ache with longing. It's the right thing, for both of them, but it doesn't make it hurt any less.

The next few minutes are spent composing herself: finding her clothes and her belongings and putting on her face, pretending that everything is fine. There is no other option, after all. This is what she created for herself.

Sam hears the echoes of soft footfalls down the stairs as she's pouring coffee. Even if she wasn't aware of her, she would know Lena's careful footsteps anywhere. The way she glides through the house on silent steps, like the quiet wings of a dove. Sam sighs, cataloguing it to yet another memory.

"I should get going," Lena mumbles, appearing in the kitchen and offering a sheepish smile. She's back in her clothes from yesterday, still looking like a fashion magazine spread, decked in designer from head to toe. "Thanks for letting me barge in on you and overstay my welcome."

Sam rolls her eyes. "You'll always have a place to stay with me," she says earnestly, walking her to the door. They pause at the threshold and Sam nudges her gently. "You forget that we were friends first, you know?"

"Friends," Lena half-sighs, her eyelashes fluttering wickedly. "You have horrible taste."

"So you've said."

They catch each other's gaze and chuckle to themselves.

"Hey, we're--" Lena glances down nervously. "We're okay, right?"

"Yeah," Sam agrees. "Yeah, we're okay. We've gone through hell together. I don't think a little speed bump is going to stop us."

Lena grins, her eyes softening. "Thanks, Sam."

"You deserve to be happy, Lena," Sam assures her. She reaches out and touches Lena's arm. "And so do I. And one day, we're going to have that, and you'll have me to cheer you on and I'll have you to call when I'm in a desperate panic over something stupid, and it'll all be great."

Lena chuckles, shaking her head. "I sure hope you're right," she says softly. "Take care, okay? We'll talk soon."

Sam smiles after her, watching as Lena gets into her car. She closes the door and lets out a sigh, feeling strangely at peace. It's almost like she believes her own words, that everything might be okay some day, after all. When their engagement ended, Sam was convinced she would never be whole again -- that part of her had died right along with their relationship. But somehow, she's still standing, able to look the former love in the eye and earnestly say she forgives her. That it's okay. That they're okay. She can move on.

And maybe she's closer to doing it now than ever before.

When her phone chimes later that evening with a message, it sends her heart fluttering at the picture that takes up the screen. She is greeted by a familiar face smiling at her with a knowing smirk. Blue eyes sparkle with the knowledge of exactly what they're doing, and lips turn down in a pout so delicious, it shouldn't even be legal.

Andrea: For you, if you're feeling lonely x

Sam's heart thunders in her chest, and she feels the heat immediately rush to her cheeks. It isn't even something she can hide anymore -- she's so attracted to Andrea it's almost visceral. Her entire body lights up at the mere _idea_ of her. She bites her lip without even thinking, studying the soft lines of Andrea's mouth and the way her sultry gaze seems to say everything. She imagines running her hands over her hips, pulling her in closer, teeth nipping at the sensitive skin of her neck, taking pleasure in the way Andrea's breath hitches every time she does it.

Before she can even convince herself not to, she's hitting 'send' and listening to the phone ring. After a few rings, Andrea answers, her voice slow and cautious.

"Hello?"

Sam's heart flutters and she exhales in relief. The effect is a complicated one. Andrea's voice renders her almost speechless with nerves and a strange sense of calm. She clears her throat and tries to form a thought.

"Nice pic," Sam tells her playfully. Andrea chuckles on the other line.

"Must be if you're calling in a thank you," she says smugly.

There's so much Sam wants to say -- so much she wishes she could make Andrea _feel_. But she can't, and she doesn't even know why she's calling, other than the fact that she _misses_ her. So she settles with, "it feels good to hear your voice."

"You think that feels good, you should get over here," Andrea quips, the smile in her tone obvious even through the phone. Sam chuckles, squeezing her legs together slightly to ward off the jolt sent directly to her core.

"Oh yeah?" Sam asks unnecessarily, taking a sip of her wine to steady herself. She places the glass down delicately on the table.

"Mmhmm," Andrea intones against the sound of rustling in the background. Sam wonders if Andrea is in bed, and the thought makes her almost blackout entirely.

"What would you do if I was with you right now?" Sam tries, leaning back against the pillows of her own bed. She feels super charged suddenly, like her body is volatile and only one thing can save her.

"Well..." Andrea starts, dragging it out slowly. Sam can just picture the devilish snarl on her lips and the way her eyes would narrow in that conspiratorial way she has that means she's about to do something sinful. "I happen to be in my bed right now, and it would be rude for you not to join me. Of course, you're familiar with this bed -- you know how inviting it can be."

"That's true," Sam agrees, another jolt surging through her body. She remembers the Cali King bed overlooking the city, the sound of Andrea's ragged breaths in her ears begging her for more, the way her body arched, the way her moans echoed... "Only.... I'm probably overdressed."

"I know you didn't call me this late still in your suit and tie," Andrea scoffs, and Sam chuckles. "Though I can make good use of those, too."

"Just a t-shirt," Sam says, tugging at the cotton fabric as if to prove her case. "Easy work for you."

Andrea pauses. "Fuck," she finally breathes out. "You're not playing fair."

"Do something about it then."

She isn't sure where the boldness comes from, but something deep inside her feels confident, like this is exactly the kind of conversation they should be having. She knows she has Andrea right where she wants her, she knows Andrea can play this game. There isn't any self-consciousness or second guessing, there's only a persistent ache.

"Well isn't this a surprise," Andrea says, her voice dripping with snark. "I thought I'd have to coax this side out of you."

"You already are," Sam teases. "What are you wearing?"

"A towel," Andrea says slyly. "I just got out of the shower."

"You're lying." Sam sits up a little straighter. "Now who isn't playing fair?"

Andrea laughs, throaty and long, before telling Sam to hold on. Within seconds, her phone buzzes with another picture -- blurry, but containing enough glistening collar-boned evidence to confirm that Andrea Rojas is indeed clad in nothing but a plush white towel.

"Touch yourself for me," Andrea husks, her voice dropping several levels to that specific tone Sam desires. She doesn't even stop to think, her body responding to Andrea's every word. It's different from their usual dynamic, but something about tonight, something about the command in Andrea's voice and the way Sam's body craves her, lets it happen. Her fingers slide under the waistband of her underwear, teasing at the slickness of her entrance. She sighs audibly.

"Tell me how wet you are," Andrea says.

"So wet," Sam whispers, her finger stroking slowly along her slit. Her back arches slightly. "I'm so wet for you."

"You're so sexy when you want it," Andrea breathes. "I think about that night in Beijing all the time, you know."

"Yeah?" Sam sighs, picking up the pace slightly as she touches herself to Andrea's voice. "What about it?"

"The way it felt when you fucked me," Andrea says deliberately, with emphasis. "How bad I wanted it even after you left."

"What do you do about it?"

"I get off thinking about you," Andrea says. Her voice is so sexy, Sam arches against her hand in response. "I make myself come and pretend it's you fucking me."

"Fuck, Andrea," Sam moans. "Don't make me do this alone," she begs, hands still wandering slowly, circling and teasing. "Spread your legs."

She hears shifting as Andrea presumably adjusts and gets in a better position. Sam tries to imagine the scene, her wavy brown hair splayed out against her pillows, her legs spread and wanting, her hands moving dangerously lower. Her chest heaves with exertion, unable to keep up with the image.

"My hands would be all over you baby," Sam says through closed eyes, the endearment slipping without effort. "Do you like that?"

"I can feel you all over me," Andrea sighs. Her voice is low and trembling, hitting Sam in exactly the right way. "I want you so bad."

Andrea can barely keep the whimper out of her voice as the sheer desperation rockets through her body. She's thought about Sam so many times, and in so many ways, but to hear her on the line, breath heavy with want and matching her desire, _fuck_. Andrea could come in five seconds just at the thought of Sam at home, touching herself to the thought of _her_ , her abs tightening and muscles clenching as she works herself into a frenzy. Andrea wishes she could see it, wishes she was there to watch Sam come undone...

"I miss your tongue," Sam says, a breath short of a whine. "Fuck, I need you."

"Get yourself off with me," Andrea replies, the rustling on the line getting more insistent. "I want to hear you."

Sam obeys, working herself deliberately while remaining extremely conscious of Andrea's movements and the sharp intakes of her breath. She knows she's close without even seeing her, and it sends her to the edge.

"Say my name," Sam tells her. "I want to hear it on your lips."

"Sam," Andrea half-moans half-yells, her breathing rapid and heavy, causing static on the line. "You feel so good when you fuck me..."

Their words are lost to the sounds of their movements, panting in tandem with each other until they tumble over the edge sighing each other's names.

"Come to me soon," Andrea finally says as her breath returns to normal. Her voice is sated, almost sleepy. Sam wishes she could hold her close, and watch the blissful look on her face that she always gets when she's been fucked. Sam's stomach flutters. "My bed is empty without you here."

"Well when you put it that way..." Sam says, trying her best to keep it as cool as possible.

 _I miss you_ , she wants to say.

She doesn't.

"This was just a preview," Andrea says suggestively. She pauses, and then through a yawn that shouldn't sound as adorable as it does, she mumbles, "'Night Sam."

"Sweet dreams Andy," Sam says softly, the nickname drifting off her lips pleasantly. Her mind is turning slowly as a result of their escapades. Sleep will find her soon, and she's counting on it arriving before the longing takes over. She doesn't want to spend another night tossing and turning, wishing for something just out of her reach.

\---

It takes a few weeks for Sam's schedule to clear enough to make the trip to National City. Unfortunately, it's a work related reason that brings her to town -- a gala she has to attend on behalf of L-Corp. On the positive side, she has plenty of time for extracurricular activities, starting as soon as her plane touches down.

Sam barely finishes knocking, her knuckles still grazing the door when it flies open and a whirlwind of chestnut hair and flashing teeth assault her vision. Andrea barrels directly into her chest, jarring her just enough to knock the wind out of her. She gasps against the contact but somehow manages to keep her balance, catching Andrea easily as her legs wrap around her waist.

"Your flight was late," Andrea pouts, pulling away for just long enough to show Sam her displeasure. She brushes a strand of errant hair from Sam's face and tucks it gently behind her ear.

"I know, I--" Sam starts, her sentence cut off by insistent lips.

"Shut up and kiss me," Andrea says against her mouth, pulling her in closer, her fingers working their way frantically through her hair.

Sam drops the explanation, thank _God_ , and instead attempts to appeal to Andrea's physical impatience. Her hands are strong and sure when they grab Andrea's hips, her lips warm and full and just the right amount of forceful. Andrea feels the muscles flexing in Sam's arms as she protectively walks them through the door, their bodies joined, her tongue in Andrea's mouth.

When they cross into the kitchen, Sam gently places her on the ground. Andrea reluctantly detangles herself from her grip.

"Hey to you too," Sam chuckles, placing another warm kiss against her lips. She pulls her close. Andrea loves the way she feels pliant in Sam's strong arms. "You look incredible."

Andrea smiles in spite of herself. She isn't dressed particularly special -- tight black pants, a white shirt that stretches along her chest in just the right way -- simple, but effective. It wasn't for lack of effort, but more due to the fact that she had no idea when Sam would be coming, and what message she should be trying to send. They've already had sex more times than she ever thought possible, but the intimacy of _trying_ \-- of actively thinking about turning Sam on -- is just too much. If she thinks about it for too long, she gets twisted up in her feelings, and that's a dangerous area to be in. So she discarded her work clothes for something more casual and pretended it didn't matter in the least.

“You don't need that, you know,” Sam nudges her chin forward, stepping closer into her space.

Andrea scoffs, making a big show of starting to take off her shirt. This is exactly where she hoped they'd land, after all. This is where she's comfortable. She doesn't mind Sam's bravado, or the way she just comes in here ready to take over --

“No,” Sam stops her with a gentle hand on her arm. Andrea freezes. “Your makeup.”

Andrea’s heart skips. “My--”she frowns, not comprehending. “What?”

“You're always so sexy," Sam says shrugging. Andrea starts to roll her eyes, but something in Sam's face forces her to take it seriously. "You know those are the pictures of you that I like the most." Sam whispers the confession quietly, and Andrea's cheeks flush hot and red as she nods slowly. Sam's smile widens.

 _This_ is the kind of thing she still hasn't gotten used to. The gentle sincerity in Sam's eyes when she pulls a compliment out of thin air. Andrea has noticed Sam's easy habit of saying nice things without being provoked, or without expecting kind sentiments in return. It's downright unnerving to someone like Andrea, who is always calculating the next scheme, always trying to detect the next lie. But Sam is different, and Andrea can't even begin to make sense of what that means.

The one thing she does know is she's still revved up from their surprise phone call a week earlier. It left her feeling wild and unchained, her body humming like an engine, idling in anticipation for the next ride. She's spent countless hours thinking about Sam's voice and Sam's body-- distracted in meetings, waking up in the middle of the night with her heart pounding and her body trembling -- all thanks to the gorgeous woman in front of her being so _fucking_ hot.

"C'mere," Andrea mumbles, pulling Sam along, tugging her by the forearm as she guides them to her bed. She doesn't want to wait, she's done enough of that, and Sam seems all too eager to oblige.

Clothes come off almost rhythmically and frantic. It's a torrid affair, loose and light, a tangle of limbs and lips and teeth. Andrea feels the warmth of Sam's gentle laughter against her skin and leans into the pull of more insistent gestures. Her fingers scratch patterns in the tanned skin of Sam's back, and her throat aches pleasantly with marks left by Sam's teeth.

Sam doesn't take her time, and seems as desperate as Andrea feels. Her hips slot perfectly against Andrea's, their bodies moving in well-rehearsed strokes. Andrea barely has time to process or think about what she wants, before Sam has her on her back, arching against the pressure deep in her core and begging for release.

This is exactly what she's been craving, and as Sam's tongue presses firmly against her slick heat, she gives in entirely, riding the rest of the way against Sam's mouth.

Afterwards, they're tangled in each other, Andrea curled into Sam's side, Sam's hands gently tracing lines along her back. It's more comfortable than it should be, but more than that, Andrea feels _safe_. Protected. Like she could close her eyes and forget that she's herself for awhile.

And something about that is more soothing than she can even articulate.

Sam's fingers move delicately, up the expanse of the smooth skin of Andrea's back and up her neck, over the perfectly formed crest of her cheek. She makes her way still higher, tracing over her forehead with curious strokes. She feels the familiar tug in her heart, yearning to know everything - beyond just what makes Andrea moan, what makes her eyes roll back - she wants to know _her_.

"How did you get this?" Sam asks softly, her voice gentle. She's noticed the scar countless times by now, the subtle way it appears when Andrea frowns, or is hyper-focused. The way it seems to be part of her in so many ways, that it's just another beautiful landmark Sam wants to memorize.

Andrea pulls back, caught up in the richness of Sam's eyes, the way they seem to radiate warmth without even trying. She blinks and forces her gaze away. It's too much, and despite their proximity and their lack of clothing, she feels more exposed than ever with Sam's eyes patiently trailing over her scar.

It's a story she might tell, one day. But once she does, once she shares the most intimate parts of her, she can't take it back. And she doesn't know what that'll mean for them. She knows without a shadow of a doubt, the way her heartbeat picks up and the way her hands tremble slightly, that she's falling too deep. And she doesn't want to ruin this. Not yet.

So instead, she grins, pushing it all away for another time.

"My turn to be on top," she husks dangerously, pushing Sam's hands away and forcing her arms over her head and back against the pillows. Her legs bracket Sam's waist as she rolls herself on top, staring down at Sam's bewildered expression. Greedily she smirks. _"Baby."_

Sam eases into a dark, knowing smile, relinquishing control and giving everything over to Andrea. Their mouths come together and her hips buck against her, and within minutes Sam is writhing with pleasure, allowing Andrea's fingers to coax a line of obscenities from her lips that all end with Andrea's name.

"You can stay here, you know," Andrea says afterwards, casually. She wraps herself in the luxurious Egyptian cotton sheet, delicately propping herself up on her elbow. Her eyes seem to sparkle with a hint of promise, and Sam grins.

"I know I can," Sam returns, emphasizing the words. "But is that what you want?"

Andrea nods, swallowing. There's a flicker of panic before her smirk falls back into place.

"Don't be weird," she says, tossing a pillow in Sam's direction.

As she gets her things together for bed, Sam's thoughts drift aimlessly, bouncing from one thing to the next, but mostly spinning on Andrea. Their relationship has shifted completely, there is no denying it. She never thought Andrea would invite her to stay the night, but more than that, she also seems so close to teetering on the edge of the same cliff Sam is on. She's still hesitant, and not entirely open, but the fact that their original arrangement has been shoved out the window is promising. Sam doesn't try to consider what exactly this means. She'll go crazy if she tries. She just wants to enjoy this -- enjoy _them_.

She gets back into bed, still marveling how it's all so different -- how Andrea is different. She's not the same cocky, high brow, insufferable snob with an attitude that Sam thought she knew all about. There are still layers of that, of course, but that's not who she is.

Simply put -- she's indescribable.

Sam is so conscious of every movement Andrea makes, every long sigh of breath. Andrea allows herself to be wrapped in Sam's arms, her face buried in the crook of Sam's neck. It seems so far from reality that Sam almost laughs, but when Andrea's eyes flutter up, looking dark and serious, the urge flees.

"I'm the bad guy," Andrea declares, her face indecipherable of other emotions. Sam isn't sure where she's going, but she knows it isn't a joke. "You should know that."

"I can do bad," Sam tries, kissing her on the forehead.

Andrea stiffens slightly. "I'm serious," she pushes, shaking her head. Her eyes are distant and Sam knows she's thinking of something specific. "I'm the kind of bad that shouldn't get to win."

It sticks with Sam, and she doesn't respond right away. Mostly because she feels so conflicted. The Andrea she's learning to know is not the same as the one she's hated for years. Is it possible Andrea is both? Sam considers the duality, trying to reconcile her own shortcomings.

Maybe they're all villains in some way. And is it fair to hate someone simply on behalf of another?

She looks over Andrea's fresh face, appreciating the smoothness of her skin, the brightness of her eyes. She kisses her forehead gently, the pads of her thumbs tracing over her cheeks, desperate to memorize the way they feel. All she can rely on now is the way she feels when they're together.

And right now, all she feels is bliss.

"I don't believe that."

Andrea bites her lip, almost in frustration. "Well you're a fool, then."

"Maybe so."

Andrea holds her gaze for a few seconds, their quiet stubbornness shrouding them in a cloud of protection from all their sins. Andrea's shoulders finally sag in exhaustion as she tucks herself back against Sam.

"You always smell the same," she sighs, accusatory, her fingers tracing along Sam's sternum. "Like your cologne and something a little sweet. Like chocolate." Andrea chuckles and places a kiss along Sam's collarbone. Contentedly and without looking into Sam's eyes, she adds, "I think I'd know it anywhere."

Sam squeezes her tighter as her heart beats loudly in her chest.

\---

Sam wakes easily the next morning, her senses greeted by the earthy aroma of coffee and the unmistakable sizzle of bacon crackling in the next room. She rolls over, half-expecting Andrea to still be in bed -- she's rich enough for a private chef, right? -- but she realizes she's alone, the sheets long gone cold.

When she wanders into the kitchen, the sight is enough to stop her dead in her tracks. There's Andrea, dressed in nothing but an oversized t-shirt, hand on her hip as she stands at the stove. She's intensely focused on the frying pans in front of her, biting her lip in concentration as she gently swirls a spoon around the edge of one of them.

Sam's heart is in her throat. First, because there's something so unexpectedly sexy about Andrea in the kitchen -- her face fresh from sleep, her hair in a messy bun on the top of her head -- that Sam almost short circuits at the fact that she looks better than she's ever looked before. It's something she's never even thought about, because it's a version of Andrea that she's sure no one ever gets to see. But then secondly, there's the fact that Andrea is cooking for _her_ \-- on a week day, no less -- and the magnitude of the gesture sends her spiraling.

"You seem like a breakfast person," Andrea offers as a greeting, startling Sam out of he thoughts. She glances over her shoulder, eyes shimmering knowingly. "Am I right?"

Sam nods, her stomach already awake and on high alert.

"You didn't have to do all this," Sam gestures over the French press coffee, the perfectly toasted bread, the crisp bacon. "I can get by with cereal."

Andrea scoffs. "I'm not letting you out of my house eating bird food," she scolds. She flips an omelette expertly with her other hand and Sam's heart follows suit.

The kitchen island is soon a covered tapestry of plates, mugs, silverware. The omelette is incredible, perfectly fluffy and expertly folded, that Sam doesn't even want to cut into it.

"Where did you learn to do all this?" Sam asks, incredulous.

"It's hard to screw up breakfast," Andrea chides, pouring herself a mug of coffee. "I didn't need to graduate from Le Cordon Bleu to figure out eggs."

"This is a little more than breakfast," Sam chuckles. She takes a bite of the eggs, immediately rendered speechless. "Oh wow."

Andrea studies her with scrutiny, appraising her reaction after each bite before finally starting in on her own.

They eat in silence for a few moments, each one lost in their thoughts, before Sam finally slips, "I could get used to this."

It's out of her mouth before she can react, scalding her tongue like hot coffee, and she refuses to meet Andrea's eyes once it's out in the open. After a pause that feels like a literal year, Andrea sighs a dreamy sigh and shrugs.

"So get used to it."

Their eyes meet, Andrea's smirk plastered in a lopsided way on her face, the meaning behind the challenge swirling between them. It's so simple when she says it that Sam almost accepts the terms.

"Big plans today?" Andrea asks, steering them back into easier conversation.

Sam nods and they have a brief conversation about their days. Sam's endless meetings at L-Corp, Andrea tied up all day with investors.

"This," Sam gestures over the empty plates, "was incredible. I wish I could thank you properly."

She stands and comes around the island to where Andrea is leaning against her stool. She steps in and kisses her, intending to keep it short and sweet. But Andrea leans into it, and before she knows it, her hands are running up under Andrea's shirt, feeling the warm skin of her stomach.

"No good deed goes unpunished," Andrea chuckles hotly against her lips. "You're lucky I'm already late or I'd have you here all day."

"You have a strange definition of luck."

They reluctantly break apart, after a few more kisses that start leading into heavier territory before Andrea shoves her off with a mocking roll of her eyes. The domesticity of it all needles at Sam. This is something she always wanted and couldn't allow herself to expect from Lena, and now it's almost within her grasp from the most unlikely source. She doesn't want to jinx it, doesn't want to accept that this could be her reality. She dresses quickly and tries to push all thoughts of Andrea and her warm bed, and her surprise culinary skills, and the way she smiles over her coffee mug far, far away.

"I'll see you soon," Sam whispers into her ear as she's leaving, squeezing her a little tighter for emphasis. "Thank you for everything."

"Of course," Andrea mumbles, leaning into her for a few more seconds before letting her go. "Bye Sam."

Andrea leans against the door, watching as Sam heads down the stairs. Her stomach dips uncontrollably, first with the heavy realization that their time together is over, for now, and second, that she is already, irreparably, falling in love with Sam.

 _Real great, Andrea_ , she mutters to herself, closing the door in exasperation.

\---

Sam strolls into the office casually, feeling a strange combination of relaxed and alert, only a cloud or two short of cloud 9. Maybe cloud 7. She doesn't want to let herself feel everything, but God if she isn't close...

"Sam!" Lena's assistant calls out, jolting her from her nonsensical reverie. "Er--Ms. Arias! I wasn't sure if you'd be in today!"

"Jess, cut the shit, you know you can call me Sam," she grins. "What's up?"

"The board moved the meeting up to 10, the briefing with Edge is at 1, Ms. Luthor is double booked and needs you to take the call with Lord Tech at 2, oh and--" Jess inhales, finally taking a breath-- "the caterer for the gala keeps frantically trying to get a hold of Ms. Luthor and I don't think it's good news but if one more thing happens she's going to flip--"

Sam laughs, startling Jess right out of her rambling. "Is that all? Well sounds like we've got our work cut out for us today, don't we?"

She steers Jess toward the corner office that she makes herself at home in when she's back in National City and starts prioritizing everything they need to tackle. The morning flies by in a flurry of phone calls, e-mails and repeated, more threatening, phone calls. By late afternoon she finds herself strolling in to Lena's office with an update.

"Good news: the board loves the proposal for the waterfront so Edge is just going to have to deal with it, better news, Lord's team is on board with the agreement on the patents, and probably best of all, the caterer for the gala is now _my_ new best friend, so--" Sam stops mid-sentence, gawking, as she finally looks up from her iPad in time to realize Lena is not alone.

"Andy--" Sam stops herself, her cheeks flushed. "Andrea. Ms. Rojas. Hi?"

"Ms. Arias." Andrea crosses her arms, her eyebrow jutting up a fraction of an inch in amusement. "Sounds like a whirlwind day. New best friend huh? That's some serious negotiation."

She can't tell if Andrea is jealous or just trying to ruffle her feathers, but Sam can't function beyond the rapid beating of her heart and the awkward grin on Lena's face. She tries to smile back in Andrea's direction, but she gets woefully distracted by her outfit: a tight Armani dress, sleeveless, with a dangerously low cut. It's not even remotely fair, the way Andrea Rojas gets to exist on this planet looking like _that_.

Sam's mouth goes instantly dry.

"I didn't know you'd--" she searches for an explanation from Andrea's face, then Lena's, but neither one folds. "Be here."

"I'll send you a fully loaded itinerary next time," Andrea says sharply. Sam takes the jab in stride, pulling her own professional mask back into place and nodding.

Lena keenly watches the whole scene, noting the way Andrea's smile widens beyond her control for the briefest second when Sam walks in the door, and the way she tries to brush it off but can't seem to shake it. She stifles back a laugh at the way Sam stumbles over her words, her eyes unable to peel from Andrea's figure despite her best efforts.

It's comical how they think they can hide it.

"What a pleasure to have you both in the same room," Lena says, her tone almost mocking. "Though I don't think it's as rare as it seems."

Andrea and Sam exchange looks and Lena allows them to squirm for a few moments. It doesn't hurt the way she expects. Instead, it's a dull ache that seems to pulse between her ribs. She inhales sharply, as if warning it away.

"Anyway--" she turns back to her desk, sitting back in her chair. Andrea and Sam follow, pulling up chairs of their own. "Truthfully, I'm glad you're both here. I called Andrea this morning," Lena says, swerving them back into professional territory. "As Sam was probably going to get to, after her monologue of updates--" she shoots her a pointed look-- "we've got the Luthor Children's Hospital Gala tomorrow evening."

"She's going to that?" Sam blurts, glancing nervously at Andrea. "You're going to that?"

Andrea's eyebrows raise in confirmation.

"Oh. Well, and Lena you're going, so then I don't really think I need to--"

"Of course you're coming," Lena interrupts. "I have to give a speech, and I need someone there who can work the room and keep the bidders happy. The auction is the most important part of the event and we all know I'm not a people person."

"Right," Sam says, deflating slightly.

"That and you flew all the way here," Andrea says through a cheeky smile. Sam catches her eye and Andrea winks, which forces Lena to clear her throat.

"As I was saying," she glares at Andrea who simply smiles back at her. "The auction is the highlight and we need to make sure everything is in order."

Lena explains the objective, informing them of exactly who to spend time on (CatCo investors, rich hospital donors), who to put up with (Lord Tech people) and who to have escorted from the premises at the mere whisper of trouble (people with the last name of Luthor who are not Lena, primarily). Andrea and Lena go over the list in a bit more detail as they strategize.

"Please tell me Edge isn't planning to make an appearance himself," Andrea groans. "I can only stand so much of that pompous asshole on a good day."

"Right, because you're so good at behaving," Lena chides. Andrea scowls at her. "It's taken care of," Lena assures her with a chuckle.

Sam, meanwhile, is lost in her thoughts, ruminating about _another_ event -- one that feels like a lifetime away, in another world. This is the whole reason she got into this mess in the first place. Her memories swirl with the buzz of tequila shots burning down her throat, warm lips against her neck, and Andrea's frantic hands scratching down her back. She glances over to where Andrea is leaning forward, lips pursed in concentration as she studies the paper in front of her. She looks so good, yet still so unattainable, that Sam doesn't even know how to feel.

She wonders if Andrea is constantly stalked by the memory of the two of them -- if it hinders her in any way. But looking at her now, she seems poised and focused, as usual. Sam grits her teeth and tries to do the same.

"You can bring a plus one, you know," Lena offers later, as they're departing. She glances between them like she's dangling a treat. "Both of you."

They exchange another awkward glance. Andrea's eyes widen, bright with something like shock. Sam breathes out a laugh. "Great," she squeaks. She nods once in the affirmative without committing.

"And who are you bringing?" Thank god for Andrea, turning it expertly back to Lena. She crosses her arms and tilts her head, waiting patiently with a triumphant smirk. Sam follows her gaze to Lena's face and pretends she isn't impacted in the least.

Lena narrows her eyes into a simmering glare. "You know I don't have time for all that."

"So you've said." Andrea dismisses her with a wave. "Oh! What about Jack?"

"Jack? I haven't seen Jack in ages--"

"I also vote for Jack--" Sam chimes in.

"No, the two of you together have always been a problem, and if we throw in Andrea, I won't stand a chance."

"Good, it's settled, Mr. Spheer is going to join us for this ridiculous affair!" Andrea announces. She grabs Sam by the upper arm, pulling her along as they leave amidst Lena's protests. "We'll handle the logistics. Bye Lena!"

Andrea is still snickering as the door closes behind them, but she soon realizes Sam is quiet again. "Yo awkward much? You look like you've seen a ghost," Andrea pauses, holding her hand out to stop them. They face each other in the hallway. "What's the deal?"

"It's just --" Sam glances nervously back at Lena's closed door. "All three of us together at an event? Seems like... not the best idea."

"We've done it more times than I can count," Andrea points out.

"It's different now and you know it."

"Well now she'll have Jack to distract her. You're welcome for that, by the way." Andrea leans in and whispers hotly, her fingers twisting against Sam's collar, "And if you can stop picturing me naked for three seconds, you'll be just fine." Sam inhales so sharply at the unexpectedly blunt comment that she starts coughing. Andrea taps her on the lapels of her blazer, her hand dangerously close to the opening of her shirt. "Easy, killer."

"So--" Sam nudges her as she recovers. "Is this your way of asking if I'll be your plus one?"

"No!" Andrea barks. Sam balks at her demeanor, but Andrea quickly softens. "We can't show up together, the reporters would eat us alive." Sam deflates slightly, but tries to keep her composure. Andrea pauses, her head tilted in thought like she caught her in the act.

"Don't pout, Prince Charming. Your bed won't be empty by the end of it."

She turns and walks away, tossing a sassy grin over her shoulder, which leaves Sam absolutely lit up for the rest of the night.

\---

The gala is held at some swanky hotel, the Plaza or the W or some boutique brand looking to make a splash. Sam isn't even sure at this point. She feels like her entire life is starting to look like the overly polished interior of a hotel that's meant to be glamorous but lacks substance. She exits the town car, adjusting the buttons on her suit and straightening her shoulders, silently commanding herself to get in position. She's gotten scary good at putting on her practiced smile -- the one with the charm of a politician and the grace of an actor -- and it's with her corporate façade in place that she approaches.

There's a red carpet in front of the entrance, because of course there is. She knows Lena would spare no expense for this affair and she also knows Andrea would never refuse an opportunity to make an entrance. The entire event is a startling combination of the two of them, which is more unsettling than Sam is prepared for.

A few yards away, Andrea Rojas is already there, posing for photos in a floor length cream colored gown that hugs her hips and accentuates her neckline deliberately. She's blatantly ignoring reporters requests for more information, smiling wickedly as they pry into _'where's her plus one?'_ and dog her for a quote.

Andrea swiftly dodges the inevitable, searching the carpet for the only person worth setting eyes on.

She was doing fine, but when Sam got all tangled up about tonight, it got into Andrea's head, too. She was perfectly prepared for a normal evening of schmoozing, rubbing elbows with people she has little in common with outside of their finances, and acting like it's all par for the course. But this evening is different, and not just because she's sleeping with Sam. Her feelings are a jumbled mess, pointing in an entirely different direction than she wants them to. It's the first time in years she's going to be in a room as a leader of a fortune 500 company with her mind painfully distracted -- searching around corners, hoping for a glimpse of someone specific. She's _Andrea Rojas_ , for fuck's sake. She doesn't _yearn_. She especially doesn't yearn for mid-level executives who work for her ex-girlfriend and who think patterned ties are couture.

And yet--

Sam chooses that second to arrive, much to Andrea's dismay. She glances over, her head tilted and dark eyes focused like she's genuinely wondering what Andrea is thinking. Everyone else fades away as Andrea meets her gaze. She's handsome to the point of fucking infuriation, her navy suit crisp and pressed in all the right lines, the vest beneath giving her that extra edge of glamor. Andrea bites her lip, wanting so badly to be whisked away -- for Sam to hold out her arm, and for Andrea to easily slip her hand over her surprisingly toned bicep, parading around together like perfect complementary pieces before disappearing from the crowd.

It strikes her, right there in the center of the red carpet, with the object of her affection a few yards away and staring at her like she hung the moon, just how _unacceptable_ this all is.

It's one thing to go starry-eyed and slip up occasionally behind closed doors. Or to come apart in the sky box when no one else is watching. It's another thing entirely to go weak in the knees in front of everyone prominent because she can't get a grip on her feelings.

Sam offers a small wave, and Andrea immediately turns her back without reply. She cannot give in to this and let everyone see how easily she's persuaded. She won't.

The flashbulbs are blinding, but Andrea isn't looking at them, anyway. The loathing she feels is intense and all-encompassing, and there's no chance of it letting up anytime soon.

She excuses herself from the production and heads inside.

"My favorite women!" Jack later announces when they all gather together, his accent pronounced. He raises his eyebrows and smiles with that wide, mischievous smile that always means he's up to no good. He raises his glass gallantly, his deep dark hair perfectly coiffed, his designer tuxedo sharp and fitted. Andrea immediately regrets her invitation, because no one should be this happy at one of these insufferable affairs. "Have I died and gone to heaven?"

Lena rolls her eyes playfully, but appeases him by raising her glass. Sam and Andrea join, half-heartedly, the former nervously glancing around, the latter feigning disinterest.

Sam is suddenly immensely thankful for Jack's presence. He gives them a common ground, a buffer, a past they can all try to navigate. While it still sort of revolves around Lena, it's something she can anchor herself to. Jack was there for some of her favorite times, and some of her worst, but he was a constant. One could even argue, at certain times, he was more of a constant than Lena. At one point, she supposes, he may have been a threat, but Lena's feelings were always a complex web of intricate design, and Sam's just grateful they all managed to come out of their trysts without massive grudges. Small victories.

She glances over to where Andrea is standing, wondering what she's thinking. Her energy is off, and it feels like back at the beginning when they could hardly tolerate breathing the same air as each other. Lena sneaks a grin over her glass, and Andrea half-smiles back, and there it is. Sam turns her attention back to Jack. Andrea and Lena will always have something out of her reach, something she will never be privy to, but with Jack, she feels like she can be part of it all again. She has her own memories with him, her own relationship with him, and right now, she could really, really use a friend.

He grins at her with a wide, teasing smile as their glasses come together.

They all huddle around a cocktail table, catching up, listening while Jack regales them with tales of his latest project in a way only Jack can.

"The prototype should be finished in a few weeks, and it's going to blow them all away, I reckon," he says, cheerfully. "Either that or I'm mad as a hatter."

"Also possible," Sam teases and Jack swats her.

"Why didn't you just call it Jack's Ego?" Andrea practically snarls. Jack calmly faces her with a knowing glint in his eye.

"Bit on the nose, love," Jack grins. "Maybe the second release."

Andrea scoffs and goes back to glowering.

She doesn't speak again, which Sam would find unusual if she didn't know better. But this is corporate Andrea, the cold, aloof, version that Sam can barely stomach. She's full of eye rolls and short comments, unimpressed by every one and every thing. Sam wishes she didn't look so damn good, because otherwise, she'd be able to ignore her entirely.

Instead, she's reduced to quick subtle glances, desperately trying to suppress the urge to whisk her upstairs and absolutely ravage her. But that's out of the question, if Andrea's piercing silence is any indication. So she forces herself to monitor her distance, for fear of causing a disruption.

Lena excuses herself to go shake hands with a donor, and Jack turns his attention fully to Andrea.

"So Andrea--" Jack leans casually against the table. Sam can tell by his smile that he knows exactly what he's doing. He loves egging people on, particularly if they're already in a mood. "Been a long time."

"Has it?" Andrea cocks her head to the side and skewers him with a gaze.

"I must admit, I was shocked when you called," Jack shakes his head, grinning. "Never in a million years...."

"Yes well, stop trying to memorize it."

Jack shakes his head. "Glad to see you're still as charming as always."

"Only for you, princess," Andrea retorts, and Jack scoffs into his glass.

Andrea scours the crowd, her gaze landing on a new target. Immediately, she gathers herself in that self-important way she has that Sam can't stand.

"Well this is _riveting_ , but I need to go," Andrea says, grabbing her clutch off the table. "Some of us have work to do."

She looks pointedly at Sam, as if it's her fault they're in this situation, before excusing herself. Sam goes to say something, but stops herself before it gets embarrassing. There's no winning when Andrea is in a mood.

As she makes her exit, she maneuvers dangerously close to Sam's arm, her shoulder brushing against hers, her fingers barely ghosting along Sam's hand. She keeps her eyes trained forward as she passes, without any indication that it might have been intentional.

"Well I must say, this is a first," Jack says taking a sip with a gleam in his eye once Andrea is out of ear shot.

"No, I'd say that's probably your seventh," Sam jokes, grinning at his glass.

"Oh, come off it," Jack chuckles. "You know where I'm going with this."

"I do and I'm trying to avoid it at all costs. How am I doing?"

"I'm like a dog with a bone," Jack says. "I'm not going to give up that easy."

"Alright, out with it... " Sam guides them to a seat where they can actually have a conversation instead of awkwardly shifting their feet. Jack drops himself in with the elegance of an elephant, draping his arm over the side and taking a long, thoughtful look in Sam's direction. "What?"

"You like her," Jack grins, his eyebrows waggling dangerously.

"That's-- literally the oldest news in the world. We were also engaged once, if you'd like to point out more obvious--" Sam cuts herself off as Jack shakes his head rapidly. "No?"

"Not Lena," Jack says, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Although trust me, I'm still incredibly shocked at this turn of events."

"I'm-- not following."

"You have the hots for Andrea," he says, obviously pleased with himself. "And honestly, darling, she's serving it back to you tenfold. The amount of sheer hostility wafting off her tonight could kill a man."

Sam's cheeks blaze as she tries to deny it. "Andrea? Andrea _Rojas_?" she cackles, too loud, too forceful, too everything. "That's-- Oh, Jack, you really have had one too many."

"I call 'em like I see 'em love," Jack says, holding up his glass. "And your taste for fancy can be seen from space."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"Alright, deny it, I don't need validation. But it makes sense, though," Jack shrugs her off. "I mean, you hated her once. Truly, madly, _deeply_ hated her. Such passion is known to flip at the slightest temptation."

Sam scowls, ready to launch into a well planned argument, complete with bullet points, on exactly why Jack is wrong, when Lena returns.

"Looks like I'm intruding--"

"No!" Sam practically yells. She reaches forward and actually pulls Lena closer. "You're right on time. Save me."

Jack rolls his eyes good-naturedly with a "we'll get back to this later" grin before focusing his next attack on Lena's dress.

Their nonsensical bickering fades from interest as Sam's eyes once again find Andrea across the room. It's annoying how they seem to be attached tonight, like some kind of magnetic force is just pulling Sam's attention to wherever she may be. Andrea doesn't seem to have a care in the world as she leans gracefully against someone else. Sam watches the way she talks closely to a handsome stranger, laughing in that over-animated way people have when the thing being said is not remotely funny but you're obligated to indulge them.

Sam mumbles about getting another drink, sure that Jack and Lena won't question her. As she makes her way to the bar, she passes Andrea who glances up slowly and catches her eye. She seems to cling to the stranger even tighter, which sends a hot, volatile rage boiling low in Sam's belly.

The line to get a drink is surprisingly long, but Sam doesn't care. It gives her an excuse to avoid everyone for awhile. She can't help sneaking passing glances at Andrea, who couldn't look more smug and cozy if she tried. She's curled into a guy Sam vaguely recognizes -- a Lord Tech executive, Stephen or Geoffrey or something equally as nauseating -- whose hand keeps traveling lower and lower down the small of her back. Sam's heart clenches painfully, and she forces herself to ignore it.

The bartender hands her a drink and she practically snarls in reply, before making up her mind to walk over to where Andrea is standing.

"--I've got the yacht, it'll be fantastic," she hears Stephen/Geoffrey say. He turns, flashing a smirk at Andrea. "What do you say? Oh, hello." He offers his hand, but Sam ignores it.

"Can I borrow you?" she asks Andrea.

"Right now?" Andrea gives her a pointed glare.

"It's important."

"I'm sure it can wait."

Sam's eyes flicker between Andrea's and Stephen/Geoffrey, both of whom seem slick and unbothered by the interruption. Andrea twists her lips in displeasure.

"Right," Sam mutters to herself, understanding the implication. She isn't going to pull Andrea away by force. If she wants to plan yacht parties and polo matches with the rich snobs of National City, then Sam isn't about to get in the way. "My mistake."

Andrea looks like she's going to say something, but instead she shifts herself so her back is more painfully positioned toward Sam.

Message received.

Sam walks purposefully around them so that she's in Andrea's line of sight as she heads out a side entrance to the balcony.

Everything in Andrea's soul seems to claw and scream in protest -- _go after her, you idiot_ \-- but Andrea stays rooted to the spot, her professional smile fully in place as the people around her prattle on uselessly. She doesn't even care about the conversation, and she wouldn't be caught dead on a yacht with the shmucks from Lord Tech, but she's comfortable here. There aren't any feelings, except for vague boredom and the usual snark, and she can navigate that with her eyes closed.

She doesn't want to be attached. She doesn't want to be chasing after someone, or be expected to be anywhere. She hates this feeling of being so out of control that just a look from Sam Arias can have her insides feeling molten and her knees unable to keep her upright. It isn't _fair_.

But then, she thinks about the sadness in Sam's eyes, and the way her smile seemed to dim when Andrea pretended she was nothing, and everything feels even worse than before. She excuses herself from her fake companions and heads over to the bar.

By the time she returns to Jack and Lena, she notices Sam has made her way back over. She's chuckling at something Jack is saying, which inexplicably lights Andrea up inside. She knows it isn't jealousy -- Jack isn't going to sweep Sam off her feet or anything ridiculous -- but the fact that she isn't still licking her wounds from earlier makes Andrea livid. She doesn't want her to be hurting, that's not it. But there was a level of satisfaction at Sam's disappointment, something that felt like Andrea could still control the narrative, even if she had to keep Sam at arm's length.

But if she's just going to be able to ignore it all and put it behind her, well. Then Andrea still loses.

She inserts herself easily back into the fold. They're all closely huddled together, Andrea and Lena flanking on either side, with Jack hamming it up in the middle, his arms outstretched to accommodate each woman.

"God, this is just like old times, right Lena?" Andrea asks pointedly, grinning at Jack in the middle. "Different face, same idea."

Jack grins, blithely unaware of the implications.

Lena rolls her eyes, touching Andrea affectionately on the shoulder. "You're so bad."

"Enjoying yourself?" Sam asks, seething, her eyes unwavering at Andrea.

"Sure," she says, shrugging. "You going to take a picture or just keep staring?"

Her face doesn't betray anything further than that, and Sam bites her lip to keep from screaming.

"You're unbelievable," Sam mutters, sure Andrea can hear her. She takes a massive sip of her drink before slamming it down with more aggression than she intends.

She studies the group, with Lena peering back at her with a careful gaze and Jack's smile slowly creeping into a concerned frown. Andrea pretends not to notice her at all. "Well, I'm off."

That seems to get her attention, as Andrea whips around sharply to stare at her. Her insufferably pompous mask seems to slip as her eyes narrow. "What?"

"I'm done here," Sam says, her words careful and deliberate.

Andrea checks her watch. "You'll turn into a pumpkin if you stay?"

"I have an early morning."

A quiet unease settles on the group. Sam waits for someone to do something. Mostly she just waits forAndrea to get out of the stupid ass trance she's in and start acting like a person. When it becomes obvious that that's not going to happen, she nods at the group again.

Lena glances awkwardly at Andrea, who doesn't say anything else. Finally, Jack pulls himself to standing.

"It was so good to see you, love," he says, his arms opening wide for a hug. Sam allows herself to be pulled into it. "Give her time. She'll sort it out," he says softly in her ear, squeezing her once before letting her go. He nods at her in a deep, knowing sort of way before pointing over her shoulder. "And, if you all will excuse me, that woman over there looks perfectly lonely."

He excuses himself to presumably go flirt with the cocktail waitress across the way who is only too excited to indulge him.

Sam feels the way Lena tries to search her face for an explanation, but she puts on her most professional smile and wishes her a good night.

"Andrea," Sam says quietly with a nod.

She doesn't say anything else, and tries not to flinch when Andrea doesn't either.

The town car is thankfully waiting for her by the entrance, and she tries not to dwell on the fact that no one bothered to follow her out.

"She's upset with you, you know," Lena points out, arching a sharp eyebrow at Andrea. They're the only two left at the table, and it's a fitting end to a disaster of an evening.

"Who?" Andrea wants to pretend she has no idea what Lena is talking about, wants to turn this conversation off, but Lena's stare is grating, and all-knowing, and Andrea doesn't have it in her anymore. "I know..." she eventually relents.

She stares over Lena's shoulder to the exit where Sam disappeared several minutes earlier, with no glass slipper to be found. She's evidently not coming back, and Andrea knows in exactly how many ways she fucked up. "God I'm such an idiot."

Lena snickers. "Well that much is true," she agrees, and Andrea frowns. "What I can't figure out is why you're still here with me."

"I just--" Andrea feels poised to argue, feels compelled to explain why everything is incredibly hard, but she loses the will. It's too complicated even for her. "I don't know. It's not important. It's not something I can really get into."

"You can," Lena assures her. "It's just me."

"It's because it's you," Andrea says. "It doesn't seem... right."

"Ah," Lena says, leaning back slightly. She rests her arm casually over the back of her chair. "So we're finally going to be honest."

"I never said--"

"Andy, spare me the song and dance," Lena says. "You've been sleeping with her for months, and now you've gotten yourself in over your head, yes?"

Andrea takes a sharp intake of breath, contemplating how the hell she's going to get out of this one. But Lena's eyes are surprisingly understanding, and she's so over all of it, that she finally gives herself permission to crack.

She lets everything spill about Sam -- what's really happening and why she's terrified of fucking up. How they can't seem to keep their hands off each other, which Lena takes in surprisingly good stride, even if the muscles in her jawline quiver as she tenses. Andrea tells her how when Sam arrived tonight, looking flawless and sexy, it was nearly enough to unravel her completely.

"That doesn't happen. At least, it doesn't happen to _me_ ," Andrea emphasizes, running her fingers through her hair in exasperation. "What?"

Lena is eyeing her with an amused smirk. "I didn't say anything."

"No, but I know you, and you think I'm full of shit," Andrea grumbles.

"You want to think you're untouchable, Andy," Lena says. "But it's not a bad thing to admit you have feelings."

"Ah, the queen of relationships is here to tell me it's okay to have feelings," Andrea jabs, and Lena rolls her eyes.

She doesn't refute Lena's claims on her feelings outright, because that's a whole slippery slope she isn't prepared to navigate right now. But she doesn't extrapolate further -- those are words she's absolutely not prepared to declare out loud.

"You always loved complicated," Lena acquiesces when Andrea is finished, and Andrea glowers.

"I know," Andrea flinches. "I know. I just --- I don't _want_ this. I never wanted this. It's soft and domestic and fucking stupid. And after you --" she offers a sheepish smile -- "I swore I would never do this again. And Sam seemed the opposite of everything I'd ever go for and then it all just sort of... happened. It wasn't supposed to go this way. She's so annoying."

Lena chuckles. "Sam is _not_ annoying. Charming, yes. Overly kind and accommodating? Also yes. Two qualities you and I are sorely lacking."

Andrea takes a sip of her drink, nodding absently in agreement with Lena's comments.

"She shouldn't be charming and kind to me," Andrea admits, huffing in frustration. "That particular version of Sam is reserved for _others_ ," she intones, staring at Lena and realizing maybe not for the first time, the depths of her jealousy.

"I thought you'd be happy," Lena says almost haughtily. "She cares about you beyond something superficial. Don't try to ruin that." Andrea scoffs into her drink, but her heart flutters. "The best things in life aren't planned," Lena says gently, reaching for her hand. Andrea gives her a look of utter disbelief. "What? Sometimes I listen to your half-baked advice."

"Good to know."

"The question now is, are you going to spend the rest of your time crying to me, or are you going to fix it?"

"I don't mean to drag you into this. I know this is weird..."

"To say the least," Lena teases, but her tone is good-natured enough that Andrea knows she means it lightly. "But I also know you. I know your games. It just seems this one caught up to you. Finally."

Andrea laughs at her own expense.

"I do have to ask though--" Lena pauses. She glances nervously away from Andrea. "If you're so hung up on Sam, why did you--when I was over--"

Lena lets the question linger between them, unasked.

"I was caught up in a moment," Andrea finally says softly. The guilt hangs heavy in her stomach. "And I was trying to run from something."

Lena takes a breath. "Seems you've learned a bit from me, too," she says after a pause.

Andrea nods quietly to herself. "I know we'll never be what we were, Lena, and I know that's my fault --" she sighs. "But I'm sorry for what happened when you came over, I know it was mixed signals and overly emotional, I wasn't thinking..."

"Andrea," Lena says softly. "Relax. I'm just as guilty for mixed signals. The truth is, I have been holding on to so much resentment, so much jealousy, for so long-- old Luthor traits, and all that." They both smile tentatively, silently agreeing to let bygones be bygones. "But you have something good going, and I can't be the one to stand in the way. And neither can you. You can still be Andrea Rojas even if you fall in love. It doesn't make you less. You have to move on. Sam has to move on. And frankly," Lena says, shrugging her shoulder, "so do I."

"So I have your blessing?"

"You never needed it," Lena says sincerely. "I get that it's uncomfortable but I'd like to think we can navigate through it. We've been through worse, after all." Her smile is kind and Andrea knows she's being serious. "Besides, if it makes you feel better, I think there's something oddly perfect about you two. I always knew you'd hit it off." She takes a long sip of her drink and Andrea simply watches. "Just be nice to me at the wedding."

Andrea gathers her belongings, feeling rejuvenated and strangely lighter than she has in ages. She kisses Lena on the cheek and goes off into the night. She realizes too late, while already piled into the back of a tinted Escalade, that she didn't even stay for the auction.

She quietly taps at her phone and arranges for a generous donation, thankful that Lena didn't force it.

\---

Andrea paces back and forth in front of Sam's hotel room door gathering her thoughts for several minutes before finally knocking. She braces, knowing she doesn't even deserve a five minute audience, let alone forgiveness, but she hopes Sam will see past all her flaws... again.

"Sam?" she calls out, trying to keep the frantic edge out of her voice. "It's me..."

After a few moments the lock clicks and Sam answers in a light state of undress. Her tie is open, her vest is unbuttoned and she still looks positively, maddeningly _dashing._ Andrea's heart leaps into her throat.

"Hi," Andrea breathes, still trying to collect herself. "Can I come in?"

"I really am getting ready for bed," Sam protests, crossing her arms over her chest. She kicks at the ground, stubbornly refusing to say anything more. Andrea knows this is going to be an uphill battle, but she's not going to go without a fight.

"For a few minutes, then?"

Sam sighs, finally opening the door after an agonizing delay.

It's already different, and Andrea can feel the heat radiating off of Sam as if she's been lit on fire. She stalks back into the room without preamble, turning to face Andrea with her hands in her pockets as she waits. She doesn't offer her a place to sit down, doesn't welcome her with her usual soft, gentle smile.

Andrea closes the door and walks into the room tentatively.

"Do you want to tell me what's wrong?" Andrea asks taking a step towards her. Objectively, she knows that _she's_ what's wrong, but she needs to hear Sam articulate it.

"Nothing, long day," Sam says, shrugging her off. "I hate these things." She rips at her tie, pulling it off angrily from around her neck and tossing it aside. She does the same with her vest, shaking out of it and laying it over the back of the chair, unbothered by Andrea's curious stare.

"Don't bullshit me," Andrea says sternly.

"Andy--" Sam stops her movements and tosses her head in exasperation to look at the ceiling. When she fixes her gaze back on Andrea's face, her stare is almost lethal. Andrea hates it. "Why are you even here?"

"Sex," Andrea shrugs. "What else?"

She wants to keep it light, to keep them trading jabs back and forth because she is completely unprepared for an in depth discussion about where they stand. She really doesn't want to have the 'what are we' conversation ever, but particularly not tonight, where she knows she's been acting like an ass and doesn't even deserve a second chance. She just wants them to go back to being them, skipping over all the nitty gritty details. She wants to let Sam push her against the door, snarling in her ear while she pushes inside her, relentless and strong and --

Sam scowls at her, apparently not content to let her get away with it.

"I'm not an object," Sam protests. "Get a vibrator."

Her shoulders drop and she pinches the bridge of her nose, and for a second, Andrea thinks she's really going to throw her out of the room. Instead she exhales heavily, allowing her shoulders to droop in something resembling defeat. "I just can't, alright?"

"Can't what?"

“It’s a mistake," Sam says, eyes flashing. “This--” she points between them “is a mistake.”

"Is it?"

Being dismissed so casually sends Andrea reeling, and she feels the anger churn deep in her chest. She takes a commanding step forward and pulls Sam by the front of her shirt, closing the gap and kissing the stupid sadness right off her face. Sam stiffens, but she allows Andrea's tongue to push into her mouth, and she bites Andrea's lower lip as if she's got something to prove.

"Is that a mistake?" Andrea exhales, satisfied at the way her nerves seem to be crackling, her entire body alight, as they come up for air.

"That's not fair," Sam breathes.

"I never said I played fair, baby."

Sam tenses. In a swift movement, she turns on her heel, maneuvering herself quickly and forcefully out of Andrea's grasp. The sudden space between them hurts more than Andrea wants to admit.

"I'm such an idiot," Sam mutters under her breath. She turns away, her back to Andrea as she starts pacing. Andrea wishes the lines of lean muscle peeking through her shirt wasn't so distracting, because this is not the time. "I knew going into this that--"

She doesn't finish the sentence, continuing to mumble incoherently until she stops to glare out the window with her hands on her hips. Andrea half expects her to start yelling at her, but she remains cool, calm and collected. Despite the way the muscles in her forearms flex, and her jaw tenses, she's almost serene.

Fucking Sam. Always in complete control.

"Go ahead, say it. You knew going into this that what?" Andrea crosses her arms, allowing herself to lean into her own frustration.

"That it would never be more than a game to you."

The confession tumbles out of Sam's lips quietly, but it shatters loudly between them.

Andrea doesn't know what to make of that. Selfishly she was hoping for a low blow, something she could sink her teeth into and refuse to let go of. But the way Sam admits her pain, deflating slightly, hits Andrea sharply in the chest.

"I'm sorry for making you jealous."

"You--" Sam huffs a laugh. "Don't flatter yourself."

"So you weren't?"

"I'm annoyed, yes, but I'm not jealous."

"Annoyed huh?" Andrea scoffs. "Okay then. Why are you annoyed?"

"Because!" Sam exclaims, her chest heaving. She tries to bring her breath under control. She doesn't want to lose it, not in front of Andrea, not like this. "This whole night was just -- what was it Andrea? A way to put me in my place? A way to remind me that you can always have something better? That you'll always be able to one up me with anyone in the room? God, you know-- you're right. Joke's on me for thinking you could possibly be different. I don't even know why I care. Do whatever you want."

Andrea glances at the floor, almost as if she's amused by something before she looks back up, her eyes bright and knowing. Sam continues to seethe.

"Of course you care," Andrea says. Something about her tone isn't biting, which stops Sam from launching at her. "You're you."

"Andrea..." Sam warns.

"I mean that as a compliment...genuinely," Andrea replies. "I--"

Sam cuts her off with a wave of her hand "Whatever."

"I'm sorry," Andrea whispers. She takes a step forward and reaches for her hand. Sam glances down between them, hesitating briefly before allowing it. "I only wanted you to be a little jealous, and I got carried away. I don't know how to do...this."

"No kidding." Sam eases up slightly. "You know, you could have spent time actually talking to me. I'm only here because you are."

"Really?" A flicker of surprise passes over Andrea's face and Sam wonders at that.

How could she not know?

"Are you serious?" Sam asks, incredulous. She drops her hand. "Of course I am. I could have gotten out of this thing ten times over, but I knew you were involved. So sue me, I just--" Sam grits her teeth before relenting. "I wanted to spend time with you."

Andrea clenches her jaw, bold armor back in place. "Well I just assumed you were there for work--" she shrugs, unbothered. "I mean Lena says jump and you say how high--"

"You're one to talk. Isn't jumping together your entire fucking _thing_?"

Andrea purses her lips, regretting Lena's involvement at all. "It's not about her."

"No, it's not." Sam agrees. "I'm just tired of these games, Andrea... aren't you tired?"

Andrea glances around Sam to the counter, where a bottle of champagne is conveniently sitting in a bucket of ice. She passes by Sam and busies herself with popping the cork and finding glasses.

She turns with a full glass, extending it out like an invitation.

Sam hesitates before accepting. "Yeah, screw it, why not."

"There's the spirit," Andrea winks and Sam rolls her eyes.

Andrea moves with grace, and Sam is transfixed by her movements, despite being so incredibly mad at her. She picks a spot on the couch, sitting gingerly and tapping the spot next to her. Sam follows, careful to keep some space between them.

"So what are we toasting to now? Your personality?" Sam asks, not expecting Andrea to actually say anything of substance. It's probably hurtful, but Sam is hurting. She doesn't even flinch at the way Andrea frowns.

"I'm sorry, okay?" Andrea grumbles.

"If you pull that shit again--"

"--I won't," Andrea promises.

Sam nods, unflinching.

"I'm not always good at feelings.... but I have them," Andrea continues, taking a delicate sip of her champagne. She looks so effortlessly gorgeous and Sam just aches for her to say more. After a pause, she does. "I have a lot of them....for you," she clarifies.

Sam's chest tightens. "Then what are we doing? Why are we always doing this?"

"It's easier," Andrea shrugs, refusing to meet Sam's eyes.

Sam is quiet at that, taking a long sip. Can she keep doing 'easy'? It was definitely easier, and more enjoyable, when they didn't care about each other -- when it was a forbidden tryst kept secret from prying eyes. But they can't go back. Sam can't erase what they are. She can't erase the desire, the longing. She can't undo the way her heart flutters when Andrea laughs, or cooks her breakfast, or wakes up with that lazy smile, beaming at her like she's golden, before her CEO mask has to come on.

Those are the moments she can't shake, no matter how many times her brain tells her this can't possibly work.

The Andrea Rojas that Sam has gotten to know is genuine, funny and kind. She's a little messy, and a little complicated, and she's _real_. She's so good that Sam wants to just wrap her in her arms and never let her go. She wants to forgive her so badly, but she doesn't want to do this anymore.

"I don't want easy," Sam finally says, defiant.

Andrea snorts at that. "Of course you don't."

"I deserve more than that, Andrea," Sam snaps. Softer, she adds, "we both do."

Andrea doesn't answer. Sam hopes that means Andrea knows she's right, and there's nothing more to it. She watches as Andrea runs her finger gently over the scar between her eyes, frowning, suddenly deep in thought.

"You asked about this the other day," she finally says, her voice soft and raspy.

Sam rushes to stop her. "No, it's okay, it was stupid, I shouldn't have--"

Andrea watches her fumble, her face impassive, and Sam stops her apology in its tracks.

"It was a car accident," Andrea says, her voice shaking slightly. "I was 12."

"Oh--"

"I was with my mother, it was raining. I don't really remember anything else," Andrea says. She looks away from Sam, blinking rapidly. "Just that I eventually woke up with a piercing headache and nothing else. In an instant, everything was-- gone. This is all I have left of her." She touches her forehead again.

"I'm--" Sam gulps, trying to keep from breaking. "I'm so sorry..."

"No one else knows," Andrea says sternly. Her eyes are intensely blue as they focus back on Sam, a warning brewing in their depths. "Not even Lena."

Sam swallows heavily. She understands what Andrea is trying to do and she nods solemnly.

"Thank you for telling me," Sam says. "I'd love to hear more about her some day," she pauses, aware of the way Andrea bites the inside of her cheek. "When you're ready."

Andrea sniffs, nodding once, before she takes another sip. She places her glass down and carefully studies Sam, her eyes scanning as if she's trying to solve a complicated math problem.

"I'll never understand why Lena left you," Andrea eventually says. Her tone is thoughtful, soft, not callous or accusatory. Sam glances at her. "I don't mean to bring it up again, but I just -- I never got it. It's why I hated you so much." Andrea scoffs. "You were always... I don't know. Annoyingly perfect."

"Perfect, huh?" Sam tries to tease.

"Besides your smug attitude and your awful jokes," Andrea rolls her eyes. "Never mind, I actually understand better now that I know you."

Sam laughs at that. It doesn't hurt the way it normally would -- because Andrea isn't attacking her for no reason. It's the first time she's ever admitted being close to jealous, and Sam appreciates that they've both felt second best.

"She didn't leave me," Sam says eventually. "Not entirely."

Andrea's eyes snap up.

"I ended our engagement," Sam explains. "I mean, our relationship was already broken, and I suppose that could mostly be blamed on Lena, I don't know. But she left me no choice. She had already turned her back on us. I only made it formal."

Andrea hums quietly. "Still," she says after a breath. "I can't understand letting you go."

It's as close to a real admission of feelings as Sam is going to get and her cheeks burn with the thought.

"Since we're exchanging truths..." Sam starts, and Andrea narrows her eyes. "I had no right to hate you. I never bothered to learn your side of the story or why you did what you did to Lena's family. I just assumed everything being said was true, and that's all I needed. I didn't try to ask questions," Sam says. It's the first time they've actually had this conversation, and it feels cathartic to explain. "She broke apart after what happened with you, and I felt it was my job to pick up the pieces."

"You're loyal," Andrea says, her eyes sparkling. "I can't fault you for that. I don't expect anyone to take my side, if we're being honest. It was the hardest thing I've ever done, and I'm still not convinced it was right. If I could go back--" Andrea sucks in a breath, scoffing at herself. She avoids Sam's eyes. "I don't know. Maybe I would still do the same thing. Maybe there's a part of me that will always be rotten."

"We all make choices," Sam says carefully. "What matters is you stand by yours."

"I guess I do," Andrea says. "It doesn't make it easy, though. And you're still right to hate me for it. Even if I know why I did it, I'll never fully forgive myself."

"But we also need to let it go," Sam tries, extending her hand. Andrea takes it with a soft, gentle smile. "I'm done with all that. It's in the past. It needs to stay there."

"Aren't you scared?" Andrea swallows heavily. "Of me?"

Sam falters. She is terrified of Andrea, but not for the obvious reasons. She doesn't think about the way Andrea could easily sell her out for a business deal, or stab her in the back, although, she supposes those are all very real concerns. But the woman in front of her doesn't make cutthroat decisions because she can. Even if that's what she'd like the public to believe. Underneath it all, she's gentle and soft, and she has a big heart that she's constantly trying to guard. Sam knows there's much more to the story between Andrea and Lena, but it's _their_ story to work out. Not hers.

No, what's scary about Andrea is how much Sam cares about her, and how badly she wants to be with her. How she somehow manages to make Sam feel like she's everything, even without saying the words.

But above all, the scariest thing is how she isn't scared. Not really. They were never supposed to end up here, but now that they are, Sam just wants all of it.

She wants all of _her_.

She smiles.

"No." Sam shakes her head. "I'm not."

Andrea pauses, studying the way their fingers intertwine. "I am," she mumbles, so low Sam almost doesn't hear it.

"Of me?" Sam asks.

"Of you, of me, of all of it."

"Is that why--" Sam starts, shifting a little closer. "Tonight--?"

Andrea bites her lip and looks away, but Sam follows her eyes.

"Don't make me say it, Sam," Andrea pleads. "You win okay? You got me. You made me fall---"

"I wasn't trying to beat you...."

"Just--" Andrea sighs, her eyes fluttering. "Tell me I'm not the only one. If you care about me at all, then please tell me..."

Sam meets her magnificent blue eyes and her heart pounds heavily. She watches the way Andrea searches her face, desperately trying to read her feelings.

"You're not the only one."

"So what about you?" Andrea whispers as she edges closer. She squeezes Sam's hand with a little more pressure before relenting. "What do you want?"


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "This is what I want," Sam says, softly. She cups Andrea's face, her fingers tingling with the way Andrea hums against her touch. "All of it. With you."
> 
> Andrea's lips quiver as she nods. "Okay," she says, her voice cracking. She pulls herself together, pursing her lips, straining to be more formal. "Good."
> 
> Sam scoffs playfully. Trust Andrea to try to reduce her feelings to a business transaction.
> 
> But not tonight. Tonight, they start for real.
> 
> everything has shifted for sam and andrea - and now it's just THEM. they finally get it together and decide to make it work. and even though lena seems like she's left out in the cold - she gets the closure & (happy) ending she deserves, too.

_What do you want?_

There's really no hesitation, no deliberation. There's not one thing that Sam wants more than _this_ : Andrea Rojas, in front of her, pleading and honest and open, showing flashes of her genuine feelings through the quiet snarl in her lips and the warm, too-tight grip of her fingers as they clutch Sam's hand.

Sam releases from her grasp and sets her glass down carefully, hyper aware of every movement, every intake of breath, every beat of her heart. She pulls herself to standing and heads through the suite toward the back room.

She pauses, looking over her shoulder, her chest warming at the way Andrea gives her a nervous, questioning glance.

"Are you coming?"

Andrea swallows heavily, the bob in her throat slow and deliberate, before she nods.

Standing under the soft glow of the bedroom lights, time slows to a standstill. Sam pulls Andrea in, her hands delicately ghosting over the curve of her hips. She's so breathtaking up close -- glamorous without even trying, and Sam is absolutely, positively transfixed.

She doesn't need the pomp and circumstance of a gala affair with the floor length gown and professional make up to recognize every level of Andrea's beauty. She revels in the small details: the sly upturn of Andrea's pouty lips as they form a slow smile she simply can't contain, the sloping curve of her jaw as she juts her chin upward to maintain steady eye contact, the fluttering, delicate lashes that curl just so every time she blinks -- once, twice, three times.

"Hey," Sam says, her hands ghosting protectively over the small of Andrea's back.

"Hi." Andrea's lopsided grin and smoldering stare sends Sam's heart soaring.

Sam sees her face differently now. Gone are the dark shades of hostility and resentment, replaced by the soft subtle glow of something gorgeous. Andrea has always been a sight, but it's startling how much she's come to _matter._

"This is what I want," Sam says, softly. She cups Andrea's face, her fingers tingling with the way Andrea hums against her touch. "All of it. With you."

Andrea's lips quiver as she nods. "Okay," she says, her voice cracking. She pulls herself together, pursing her lips, straining to be more formal. "Good."

Sam scoffs playfully. Trust Andrea to try to reduce her feelings to a business transaction.

But not tonight. Tonight, they start for real.

She maneuvers them backwards, pulling Andrea toward the bed, their eye contact unwavering. It's magnetic and charged on a whole new level now, and Sam feels a rumbling deep beneath her skin.

Andrea turns herself around, her back to Sam's chest in a silent order. She dips her head low and pushes her hair aside, exposing the pretty side of her neck. Sam's fingers easily find the zipper of her dress. Slowly, almost achingly so, she tugs it down, marveling at the slender muscles in Andrea's back as her fingers trace along her spine.

She doesn't rush, doesn't pull. It feels like they have all the time in the world now, and Sam is intent on relishing in it. She pushes aside thick waves of hair, kissing along the freckles on Andrea's shoulder that she never had time to appreciate. She kisses the soft spot up by the base of her neck that's decorated by short, blonde hairs peeking out carefully under the canopy of thick caramel waves. Slowly and meticulously, she unclasps her bra, running her hands over the tender skin under the strap as she lets it fall to the floor. She runs her tongue over the goosebumps that appear over her back, smiling against Andrea's skin when she inhales sharply against the touch.

She loves that she's the one to get Andrea like this: vulnerable, soft, undressed and undoubtedly _hers_.

Andrea turns and steps out of her dress, the material pooling in a silky wave by her ankles. Sam feels the tension coiling deeply in her stomach, blooming into heat, as Andrea licks her lips. Her hips are sinfully exposed, covered only by the thin line of her black lace thong.

"Is that for me?" Sam asks, stepping closer, caressing the crest of her hip and feeling the fire rage deep in her core. Andrea smiles wickedly, and Sam shakes her head. She partially expects a dagger response, her usual snark wrapped in lace, but Andrea simply steps out of her dress and moves forward in silence.

Her fingers shake as she works the buttons of Sam's shirt and Sam loves that she's nervous. It's the first time they've moved slow enough to take it all in, and she's never seen Andrea Rojas actually _shiver_.

Her timid, warm hands move up Sam's stomach, dipping under her shirt and pausing on her abs. Every inch of Sam's skin comes alive under her touch. Andrea leans forward, her voice breathy and deep as she whispers, "it's all for you," her lips hot against Sam's neck.

"Fuck," Sam moans, tilting her head back, her body electric as Andrea nips at the column of her throat.

Sam shakes herself out of her shirt and makes smooth work of her pants, stepping easily and tossing them aside all while Andrea's lips part, her mouth hanging open at the sight.

Andrea reaches out, her fingers ghosting over Sam's shoulder and upper arm, trailing back up slowly like she's sculpting her from clay. Her eyes are hooded and low, her breaths shallow.

"It's not even fair how you look sometimes," she mutters, a small smile teasing at the corners of her mouth. She pushes Sam backwards the rest of the way until the back of her knees hit the bed. She's forced to sit, with Andrea barely clothed and straddling across her lap.

Andrea Rojas is going to be the death of her, Sam is certain. But if she's going to die, then _fuck_ , she's perfectly content for it to end with her hands all over _this_.

It turns frantic, then, the desire and desperation too much for Sam to possibly control. She pulls Andrea flush against her, nails digging into hips, their lips crashing together in a spectacular explosion of want.

Andrea kisses deep and hard and fast, like she can't get enough, like she can reach Sam's soul through her lips, and Sam allows her to take whatever she wants. She tastes like the sweet tang of champagne and something deeper, like the spice of clove or something delicious. Andrea always hits like a rich, savory meal -- intricate and incredible, and Sam is famished. Her tongue pushes into Andrea's mouth, filling her, while her fingers tangle in Andrea's hair, tugging with intent.

Andrea's hips grind down against her roughly.

"What are the rules?" Sam asks breathlessly between the onslaught of Andrea's lips.

"No rules," Andrea husks.

"Not even--"

"Sam--"Andrea breathes, nostrils flaring. Her pupils are blown out, lips puffy from Sam's mouth. She looks chaotic and windblown and devastatingly hot and Sam forgets what she was going to say. "Ay Dios mío, _stop talking_."

Sam chuckles. "There she is."

Andrea bites her lip to keep from saying anything else -- they've done enough talking for a lifetime -- and instead she delicately moves herself off Sam's lap and toward the pillows. Sam turns after her, moving quickly and gracefully, slotting herself on top and pushing her thigh between Andrea's legs as their bodies come back together.

It's so different than any other time, or with any other person, that Andrea feels completely out of her element. Normally it would piss her off -- infuse such fury into her movements that the entire affair would be callous and transactional -- because how dare this be happening? And with Sam Arias of all people? But she doesn't have it in her anymore to be so combative. It's _because_ it's Sam that it's like this: so tortuously fantastic, so intensely explosive, that maybe, just maybe, this is exactly what Andrea needs.

Being with Sam doesn't have to be a death sentence -- not when she says over the top romantic things without even trying, and not when she shows up for Andrea time and time again, just hoping that eventually Andrea will be strong enough to meet her halfway. Not when she looks like this, and makes Andrea feel so many things at once.

No. How could this be anything other than _perfect_?

Sam, for her part, seems different, too. She doesn't have that same look of feral desperation in her eyes that Andrea's come to expect from their encounters. They aren't going at it with something to prove, with a desire to win. Instead, Sam is calm and gentle, focusing on every detail like she's _worshipping_ her. And that's new, but it's glorious, bringing a magnitude with it that Andrea finds impossible to ignore. Even if she doesn't feel worthy of being an idol, her body responds to every look and every touch like she's a smoldering flame and Sam's the gasoline.

Andrea's heart pounds steadily in her ears as Sam kisses along her collarbone, her fingers tracing patterns along her ribs as she mumbles constant reassurance.

"You're so pretty..." Sam says against her stomach, and Andrea ignites a little more.

She's never felt more exposed and vulnerable as she does under Sam's careful gaze, but it isn't the horrifying uncomfortable experience she thought it would be. Sam is diligent and respectful and so painfully kind, that Andrea feels the confidence bleeding into her soul at every touch of Sam's lips.

Her fingers ghost over the sharp slope of Sam's jaw, partially in wonder -- she still can't comprehend how Sam's face can be this, like she's some otherworldly figure who just so happens to feel like giving her the time of day -- but it doesn't stop Andrea from trying to measure up. Sam's eyes flutter closed, her mouth slightly ajar as Andrea teases at the corner of her lips, her fingers still marveling over every sensation. They're so smooth, and pillow-soft, that Andrea feels like she might die if she doesn't press them against her own mouth immediately.

Sam seems to have other ideas, though, because her tongue slides out delicately and wraps warmly around the tips of her fingers, and Andrea explodes into fiery, overwhelming intoxication. She pushes her fingers slowly into Sam's mouth, and comes unhinged at the way they disappear, with Sam sucking at them like she's _craving_.

When their eyes meet, Andrea feels the last of her walls come crumbling down as Sam stares at her like she's magic. The whine catches in the back of her throat and she arches her back and lifts her hips, desperate for Sam to take off the final barrier of clothing. She's aching to be close again, absolutely dying for Sam to touch her.

"Please--"

Her words sound small and foreign, but she doesn't care, so long as Sam knows she needs it.

Sam exhales a shaky breath and slides her underwear down, discarding it quickly as her fingers drag up Andrea's inner thigh.

"What do you want--"

" _Anything_ ," Andrea exhales, feverish and dizzy with desire. Like if Sam doesn't fuck her soon, she might actually explode. "Anything you want to do to me, please--"

She wants Sam so badly, but in all the ways she never got to have her before. She wants Sam to pull her in close, to cover her completely, to fill her with everything she has, every feeling, every emotion--

Sam's finger traces delicately, teasing at her entrance, testing her readiness and Andrea bucks at the contact. She's fucking _ready_ , the slick heat spreading to her thighs, and she just _wants_ , she just _wants._....

Sam pushes into her, then, stretching her with such a pleasant jolt that Andrea's sure her moans can be heard across the city. Something deep in her chest claws for more, and she latches on to Sam's back, pulling her even deeper inside, joining their bodies together with permanence until she's sure there isn't a single inch of space left.

It isn't just sex anymore, and Andrea knows it. But she pushes the thought away as she lets Sam take over, arching into her every stroke, head warm and spinning with Sam's reassuring gasps.

"You're so sexy like this baby," Sam rasps, breathless as her forearms flex and her fingers keep working. Andrea moans, reckless and unchained, spreading her legs even wider. "I love the way you sound..."

Sam is a sinful combination of powerful and gentle, easy and strong, and Andrea can't even keep it all straight anymore. She shouldn't even be considered a person, the way she's almost flawless, her body beyond comprehension, and her heart ten sizes too big. But somehow, she is, and she's here, wanting Andrea almost as badly as Andrea wants her. She's never let herself have something this real before, but she recognizes the same desire swirling in Sam's deep, dark eyes.

She surges forward and kisses her deeply, willing her lips and tongue to convey everything she wishes she could say. _I need you. I want you. I--_

Sam curls her fingers up, still pushing steadily inside her, and the sensation causes Andrea to exhale heavily. She throws her head back as she gives herself over completely. Emotions prickle at the back of her eyes, and she squeezes them closed, focusing only on Sam's steady rhythm and the way she gives, and gives and gives....

"Sam..." Andrea gasps, unable to do or say anything else. She can only focus on the tension building deep in her core, and one name, over and over and over. "I just--" Andrea starts again as Sam continues to work her undeniably closer to the edge. She's unable to articulate the overwhelming feelings. "I--"

_I love you, I love you._

She almost breaks, but instead she keeps it concealed, biting into Sam's shoulder as her body tenses. The words flash only in her mind as Sam pushes her to the breaking point.

"I know baby," Sam pants against her skin, voice erratic and movements frantic. "I know."

Every muscle in Andrea's body is tense to the point of strain, piercing and burning with exertion, before Sam coaxes everything in her to unravel. Her cries are almost wild, her body trembling uncontrollably in Sam's arms as she cascades over the edge into an endless abyss.

They come down quietly, delicately, with Sam's hand behind her head as she melts back into the mattress. Sam leans in close as if she's shielding Andrea from herself. She can't even catch her breath, her chest heaving against Sam as she tries to come back to her body.

"I've got you," Sam whispers in her ear, her words slow and her breath warm. "I've got you."

Andrea clutches her like she's hanging from a precipice and Sam is the only thing tethering her to this world. _Don't let me go_ , she wants to beg, the tips of her fingers digging in firmly as if she can will them to speak for her. She doesn't say anything out loud, too afraid to break, too afraid to ruin whatever is happening. It's foolish to be scared, but she can't help it, not when she's finally got something in this world that she can call _hers_.

Sam doesn't push. She seems content with the silence as she continues to place feather light kisses along Andrea's temple.

"I'm yours, you know," Sam says quietly, a confession fluttering in the darkness. Andrea is trembling in her arms, a weak smile on her lips as she searches Sam for evidence that she's telling the truth. Her eyes are bright, and Sam can tell there's so much going on in her head, but in the moment, there's only them.

"Show me again," Andrea whispers, and Sam's heart squeezes.

"Okay," she breathes, pulling her into an endless kiss.

\---

"Andy? You here?" Sam calls out, reaching her foot back and hooking the door with her shoe, slamming it neatly as she readjusts the two massive grocery bags in her arms.

"In here!"

"God the house smells incredible," Sam says, following the mouthwatering scent of sautéed onions and garlic into the kitchen. She deposits the bags on the counter and smiles.

It's starting to become routine, seeing Andrea in her house, and in particular, in her kitchen, but that doesn't mean Sam will ever be used to it. She pauses at the threshold, drinking in the sight, feeling the familiar warmth bloom in her chest-- a feeling that always seems to take up residence when she comes home and finds she isn't alone.

There's Andrea -- _her_ Andrea -- dressed in Sam's old college sweatpants, the waistband rolled up several times so she isn't drowning in the length, standing over the stove with the fierce concentration of a CEO dominating a board meeting. She moves swiftly, covering more ground than should be possible for one person, pulling out knives and spoons and whisks, the layout of Sam's cabinets apparently memorized. She mumbles incoherently in Spanglish slang, chopping faster than is probably safe, pausing only briefly to throw a dish rag over her shoulder. Her laptop is balanced precariously on the corner of the counter with Gloria Estefan's voice encouraging the room to _get on your feet_ \-- a song that always gets Andrea's hips moving.

A recipe card lies partially covered by a bag of onions and stained with the evidence of the day's work. Andrea is barely looking at it, and Sam is convinced it's illegible anyway, the looping, rushed scrawl of Andrea's impatient penmanship enough to give even semiotic scholars a mystery for the ages. Sam is learning Andrea's tendencies and knows it's there 'just in case', serving as a safety net on the off chance Andrea wants to fake like she's going to use accurate measurements.

(They both know it doesn't serve a real purpose.)

When Sam foolishly asked why she doesn't pull recipes up on her laptop, she was firmly scolded. _'No, Samantha, I'm not going to use a laptop to look it up, my Abuela would never!'_ Even if the food can't tell the difference, Andrea can, and presumably that extends to abuelitas everywhere, so Sam never questions it again.

"You get the wine?" Andrea turns to look at her, hand on her hip, the other hand clutching a very aggressive chef's knife that gleams under the kitchen lights. Sam finds all of it sexy and only a little terrifying. Andrea flashes a mischievous smile, which Sam knows will only be playful if the answer is 'yes, of course'.

"Have I ever failed you?"

Andrea's eyebrow arches.

"Don't answer that -- it was one time, and it wasn't like I got you Equate brand wine or something, okay?"

Andrea snorts while shaking her head, fixing her attention back to the stove.

This is what it's been for the past few months. Comforting. Home. Andrea comes to town whenever she can, since private jets and expense accounts are all within her purview, and Sam keeps the kitchen stocked with whatever Andrea asks for. It's a good system, since really, Sam is fully prepared to do anything Andrea wants, and she's fairly confident Andrea would buy her the world if she asked, so. There's that.

The constant cloud hanging over them that needles about relationship statuses and pokes at if this is all going to end in catastrophe has disappeared. She can't explain why, but she feels that this is right. They just...work.

Andrea is different now too, sort of. She's herself. She's the Andrea that Sam always saw flashes of in the early days of their back and forth, but more permanent. There's still sarcasm and snark, and a competitive streak a mile long, but at the end of the day, she's caring and sweet and even a little more romantic than Sam is.

(She'll never admit it out loud, and Sam would never tell her, but it's the way she shows it with grand displays -- gourmet meals, and surprise trips and hand written notes -- that makes it just... _warm_ ).

Sam steps up and wraps her arms around her waist, pulling her back against her chest. She fits perfectly, folding into every space like a key in a lock, and Sam closes her eyes for a second, breathing her in.

"Hi," she whispers, kissing the top of her ear.

"Taste," Andrea instructs, turning carefully and holding a spoon up to Sam's mouth, one hand underneath to catch any dripping. She blows on it once, her lips luscious and distracting, and Sam almost crumbles. "What?"

"You first," Sam teases, nudging her chin forward at her.

Andrea eyes her skeptically, but takes a bit in her mouth slowly, her eyes narrowing in Sam's direction.

Without missing a beat, Sam leans forward and captures her lips, kissing her fully, the taste of something spicy dancing on her tongue.

"Oh yeah," Sam nods appreciatively, licking her lips as she pulls back. "That is literally perfect. In fact--" she sneaks another kiss in the corner of Andrea's mouth, "I might not let you leave if you keep that up."

She taps Andrea on the hip affectionately which elicits a huff of laughter. Andrea turns back to the stove, cheeks flushed and shaking her head, quietly satisfied with the response.

"You know, before we started dating, I was going to hire a private chef, but I guess you're kind of a two for one deal," Sam teases, making her way across the kitchen. She hops up on the opposite counter, sitting on it lazily, her long legs dangling over the side. She knows it drives Andrea the right kind of crazy, which is exactly why she does it.

"You can't afford me, baby," Andrea says, rolling her eyes. She turns and tosses the dish rag, her aim impeccable as it hits Sam squarely in the chest. "Now get out of here, you're distracting me."

Sam tosses the rag back before jumping down, her lean legs extending out with the grace of a gazelle. Andrea pretends not to notice, but out of the corner of her eye, she studies the way Sam's jeans hug her sculpted calves, and the way she smiles unabashedly in Andrea's direction. Her own smile ghosts along her lips, completely involuntarily, but in the comfort of this kitchen and this home, she can't begin to care.

She's happy here, in ways she never could have imagined. She always thought being in a relationship would be some kind of domestic torture, where she'd have to hide parts of herself away and keep buttoned up and proper in order to make sure nothing gets misplaced. Like staying in her corporate designer dresses long after business hours, for fear of letting herself relax. But with Sam, it's the opposite. Sam is patient, and kind, and overly silly, and she coaxes it out of Andrea -- the good, the bad, all of it. She kisses her when she's stressed and on the verge of tears, her face bare of make up and eyes bloodshot, and she holds her close when Andrea's too exhausted to even sit up on her own. Sam leaves her alone without a grudge when she needs the quiet, when the world gets to be too much to explain, and she teases her relentlessly when she's on the verge of being too serious, when all she needs is someone to hold her hand and let her know it's all going to be fine.

Sam fills her up, every inch, every corner, and most of the time, she doesn't even have to try. She's fun, and funny, and she makes Andrea's worst days better by existing. Her laugh is infectious, her jokes absolutely _atrocious_...

Andrea glances after her again, catching her unaware as she sets the table, humming along to the music and looking blissfully content. She catches Andrea's eye and winks and she's so completely dreamy that-- _oh_ , God.

The feelings boil and bubble over, too much to be contained, and oh, _oh_ , Andrea _loves_ her.

She loves her. And she wants to tell her, wants to shout it, wants to explode with the magnitude of it, but she doesn't know the first thing about confessing her feelings when they actually matter. It's different when there is so much to lose. It's different when it's infinite.

Instead she says, "how long did it take you to paint on those jeans?" and it's almost the same, except it's not, until Sam laughs, hearty and full, and Andrea has to turn, afraid her face will give everything away.

She swallows it down, clenching her jaw, content that Sam must feel it somehow. She must know enough to understand that Andrea would not be here, would not be doing any of this, if there wasn't something grand between them. She busies herself with stirring, trying to push the image of Sam's perfect face away, at least temporarily. She just needs a breather before she opens her stupid mouth and says something ridiculous.

I love you. How truly dramatic.

Sam sneaks behind her a few seconds later, hand ghosting over the small of her back as she rummages in the cabinet above Andrea's head. She places a gentle kiss on her cheek and grabs the plates, oblivious to the absolute chaos she's inflicting on Andrea's heart.

And Andrea lets her. She'll always let her.

Dinner is incredible, as always. It's a beef bourguignon that has no right to be so delicious, but Sam knows that's par for the course. Andrea is like one level below a classically trained chef, even though she denies putting in any effort whatsoever. So they both pretend she's normal, and that's fine, because Sam gets the better end of the bargain anyway. Considering her repertoire in the kitchen consists mostly of carbs (the breakfast kind) or microwavable meals and her metabolism is such that she's constantly starving, it's an easy choice to trade in her Lean Cuisine for Andrea's mastery.

"You're really good at this, Andy," Sam says enthusiastically, still chewing but not enough to be ridiculous. "I mean it."

"It's how my family always was," Andrea says casually. She shrugs, but Sam can tell she's trying to be reserved. Her cheeks flush as she speaks. "It would be blasphemous to come to our house and leave with an empty stomach. If you weren't rolling down the street after a visit to the Rojas estate, it would be a monumental failure." She chuckles at that, and Sam's heart squeezes. "My father taught me most of what I know." Her voice drifts slightly, and she goes to that place she often does when speaking of her family -- some faraway land that Sam hopes she'll get to really visit one day, even if it's only through Andrea's stories.

"Anyway -- there's just something about it. Something about putting everything you have into a dish, taking care of someone. I don't know. It's just... nice."

She picks up her wine glass and swirls it around, distracted. There are probably seven thousand thoughts going on in her beautiful mind, and Sam wishes she could know every single one. But she gets what Andrea is saying and doesn't try to get her to say more. Andrea doesn't like to speak her feelings out loud very often, so whenever she does, Sam is careful to catalog the information and hold on to it like something sacred.

"Could I have more?" Sam asks, holding out her now-empty plate.

Andrea beams, her eyes twinkling, nodding as she takes it.

Peeling back the layers is one of the most intoxicating parts of dating Andrea Rojas, and Sam is completely enamored with the journey.

\---

Another incredible thing Sam has learned about Andrea is that she cuddles in her sleep.

The glamorous, rich, powerful CEO of two fortune 500 companies, _that_ Andrea Rojas, is a grade-A _cuddler_ , and if Sam thought she liked her before, it's borderline ridiculous how much her affection grows as soon as she discovers this.

When it first happens, Sam is convinced it's an anomaly -- a once in a lifetime accidental event that Andrea will never repeat. After all, they used to have rules about these kinds of things. They used to have arbitrary, unnecessary boundaries (which Sam hated). But now she understands why Andrea was so adamant.

(You can't just cuddle your arch-nemesis fuck-buddy and think you can keep power over them.)

But sure enough, one time turns into several and after awhile, it's expected that whenever they fall asleep together, Andrea's leg will purposefully arch over Sam's abdomen, her arms clutching like a koala.

Sam almost has to sign an NDA about it, but she promises vehemently it's not something she wants to share with the world. She doesn't need everyone to know that Andrea Rojas is not only unfairly sexy, but also fucking adorable.

Andrea wakes up with a groan, her impossibly soft face pressed into the curve of Sam's shoulder and neck, her lips even more pouty with sleep. She's crinkly and grumbly and her voice -- her _voice_ \-- Sam can't even begin to unravel the soft, raspy sounds of Andrea's morning voice. It's all very overwhelming and ten kinds of unfair, but the fact that Sam is the only one that gets to witness it makes it somewhat manageable.

"Hey," Sam says, quietly, pressing a kiss to the tousled hair covering Andrea's brow.

"Mmph," Andrea mumbles, breath warm against Sam's skin. "Ten more minutes..."

"Take your time," Sam says, the chuckle soft in her throat. She shifts gingerly to the side, carefully working out from under Andrea's weight. Andrea frowns, on the edge of a pout, but Sam says, "I'll make us breakfast."

Andrea hums at that, squeezing the pillow and allowing Sam to sneak away into the kitchen.

Sam busies herself with setting out all the utensils and ingredients while the coffee brews behind her. These are the kinds of days she loves: slow, easy weekend days with nowhere to be, where breakfast can stretch until dinner, and she has Andrea curled up in her bed safe and warm and beautiful. She hates when Andrea has to leave, but that's a future Sam problem that she won't think about right now, because right now they have _this_.

It's enough to make her sing, but she settles with a low whistle, content not to wake up the entire neighborhood.

(It takes a lot of restraint.)

"I didn't realize I was dating Jiminy Cricket," a raspy voice remarks a few minutes later while Sam is furiously whipping the pancake batter. She stops her whistling remix of _What is Love_ and turns to find Andrea, all collarbones and shoulders in her sleep tank top and shorts, a sly smirk pressed along her mouth as she leans against the door frame. Sam's stomach takes a dive right into the bowl.

"Hey you," Andrea adds, crinkling her nose and looking at Sam like she's the centerpiece of brunch. "Whatcha making?"

"Wanna help?"

Sam pours some of the batter over the skillet as Andrea comes around the counter, eyeing her skeptically.

"I don't typically play sous chef--"

"No kidding," Sam scoffs, nodding in the direction of the bowl where the finished pancakes are going to go. "But you're in my house," Sam reminds her. With a kiss on her nose she teases, "my rules."

"Bossy," Andrea scolds, complying anyway as she reaches for the bowl.

"You like it," Sam grins knowingly and Andrea doesn't argue.

Sam turns away before she gets too distracted by Andrea's _everything_ , busying herself in the cupboard and pulling out chocolate chips, sprinkles, and various other pancake necessities. It's one of the few things from her childhood that she likes to remember: fun, chaotic Saturdays when her adoptive mother would let her help in the kitchen, and they would compete to see who could come up with the most ridiculous combination of pancake toppings.

Sam always won.

"Why does everything you touch turn into a funfetti explosion?" Andrea asks incredulously as Sam tosses everything down in front of her.

"What does that make you, cupcake?" Sam winks, taking particular pleasure in the way Andrea's mouth hangs open.

"You have the eating habits of a child," Andrea snaps back, barely able to hide the smile threatening to take over her face.

"Hey! Don't knock it til you try it," Sam chuckles, popping a chocolate chip in her mouth. "Pancakes are supposed to be fun."

"Fun," Andrea repeats, arching a brow as she flips a pancake off the skillet and into the finished bowl.

"Yeah, fun, you know that thing that people sometimes allow others to have." Sam crosses her arms and Andrea grins, leaning back against the counter, gesturing for Sam to continue. "Thank you," Sam nods, tearing into bags of sweets and ceremoniously pouring them into bowls like she's preparing for a seven year old's birthday party. Most of it is over the top, and she knows it, but pushing Andrea's buttons is too much of a thrill to stop it.

Andrea simply rolls her eyes and sneaks a cherry out of one of the bowls while Sam pretends not to notice.

While Sam is rummaging in the refrigerator, the final pancakes come off the stove in a flourish. It's mostly thanks to Andrea's ability to pay attention, since Sam has forgotten about the stove entirely in pursuit of something else. It's probably why she's not a great cook -- there's always ten thousand other things that call to her like celebratory distractions.

"And, for the topping--" Sam announces proudly, holding up a container and returning to the counter.

"You're kidding."

"I never kid about whipped cream," Sam shrugs. "Or _topping_."

"Cute."

She walks purposefully toward Andrea, eyes trained on her target.

"What are you doing?" Andrea takes a step back, then another, until she bumps into the counter. "Sam..." Andrea warns, her arm outstretched with a finger pointing in her direction. "I swear to God--"

Sam pretends to study the label of the bottle, absolutely engrossed in the details, taking particular pleasure in the heavy anticipation surrounding them.

"Real cream," she reads, lips turning up in a smirk. She shakes the bottle. "It'd be a shame to waste it..."

"Sam--"

Before Andrea can say anything else, Sam turns and aims, squirting whipped cream everywhere, the bulk landing on Andrea's chest and throat.

"You're _dead_!" Andrea snarls, lunging after her. Sam is too quick and too long, holding the bottle away from Andrea's reach and keeping her at arm's length, like one might do to a child. It's probably hilarious. Sam wishes she could see it from a third party perspective.

Andrea grumbles, moving furiously to push past her, but Sam doesn't budge. It's not even a fair fight, but that's always been their thing. Andrea's never met a challenge she couldn't step up to, and Sam has never met anyone like Andrea. Even if they're joking around, it's also a little hot, and Sam can feel the tension coiling deep in her stomach.

Eventually, Andrea relaxes against her grip and Sam turns to face her, her heart pounding at the way Andrea is absolutely _pouting_.

"You got a little--" Sam points, leaning in close and pulling Andrea in before she can react. She feels the way Andrea shivers in her arms as Sam licks the whipped cream off her neck.

Andrea throws her head back, her laugh stifled by a thick exhale. Sam leans into it, Andrea's soft skin intoxicating, and just when she feels completely _ravenous_ \--

"HA!" Andrea reaches around and grabs the bottle out of Sam's hand. She points it at her like she's pointing a gun, satisfied smirk pressed over her lips. "Now what?"

Sam holds her arms up in surrender. "Alright, alright," she says. "You win."

But Andrea isn't deterred. She closes one eye, aims and fires.

It's sticky and cold and mostly unpleasant, so all Sam can do is stand stunned while the whipped cream tangles in her hair. She shouldn't be surprised that Andrea would be so bold, but she freezes anyway, mouth open and eyes wide.

Andrea mimics her, the same deer-in-headlights expression, the same open mouth, while everything around them seems to stop.

They stare at each other, mouths open like guppies, before Sam launches herself forward a split second faster than Andrea can react. She tackles her in a bear hug position, suppressing Andrea's arms to her sides despite wild, frantic protests. Sam scoops her over her shoulder and Andrea laughs and laughs and _oh,_ Sam thinks, her chest warm and light: she _loves_ her.

She loves this impossible girl who tries to act so tough, but is currently in her kitchen, giggling over her shoulder while she pretends to be surly. She loves that she's brave and strong, but still has a heart, and she loves that she's rough around the edges but willing to share herself slowly, layer by layer.

Sam lowers her gently to the ground, her arms still fully around her waist as she kisses along her jaw, her cheek, her nose. Andrea's laughter quiets into rushed breaths as she allows Sam's lips free range over everything.

It's moments like these that Andrea can't believe this is her life: that she has this incredible woman who makes Saturday morning into a celebration, that thinks she's fun and pretty even when her hair is matted from sleep and she's disheveled in her pajamas.

How did she, of all people, get this lucky?

Sam laughs as she presses another kiss to Andrea's jaw, and then another, and another, each one longer and warmer than the last. Andrea's chest explodes with need as Sam's tongue teases at her ear.

"Hey," Sam whispers against her cheek. Andrea presses her fingertips into Sam's shoulder blades. Sam pulls back, catching her eye with a grin. "You look good in whipped cream," she says, nipping at her jaw, her tongue swirling over the remaining wreckage from their battle.

"Sam..."

Andrea says her name in that way, almost in warning, and Sam's cheeks burn hot. She reaches around and pushes the bowls off to the side in a swift movement. One of them crashes to the ground, scattering sprinkles all over the tile floor. Sam doesn't even hear the calamity as she lifts Andrea up, positioning her to sit on the counter. There's only one mission as she drops down slowly, pulling Andrea's shorts off in the process.

Andrea hooks her leg over Sam's shoulder, the pressure of her heel digging in like an anchor. Sam spreads her legs apart, peppering her thighs with kisses, as Andrea whimpers above her. She feels Andrea's fingers card through her hair, pushing at the back of her head and guiding her with insistence toward the apex of her thighs.

Sam's tongue teases slowly at the sensitive skin of her legs, up higher, to the fold of her hip, and then back down to her glistening center. Andrea's hips buck slightly, eagerly, and Sam wastes no more time. She presses her tongue between her folds, flattening fully before curling up in one motion. The result is a resounding moan from above as Andrea throws her head back, pushing against Sam's head and silently begging for more as she pushes her legs further apart. Sam grins, tasting Andrea's now familiar arousal, as she works her mouth in alternating strokes -- long and short, slow and fast.

Her thighs quiver and shake as she clenches around Sam's head, but Sam's rhythm is steadfast, her tongue magic. Andrea squeezes her eyes closed as everything turns molten, her moans guttural and echoing against the walls.

Sam pushes two fingers inside, curling upward, her tongue never slowing down and Andrea swears her soul leaves her body. For several glorious seconds it's just thrusts and exhales, her body pushed to the brink and cascading over into nothing.

Afterwards, Sam stands slowly, wiping her mouth with a sly smile. Andrea's stomach flutters as she leans in, kissing her deeply, the evidence still warm on Sam's tongue.

"So uh--" Sam pulls back, looking around at the discarded bowls and the chaotic mess of sprinkles and chocolate chips on the floor. "Breakfast might be a little delayed."

Andrea laughs at that, pulling Sam in close, and kissing her again. She wraps her arms around her neck and holds her tight, feeling her heartbeat against her chest.

Andrea always thought it had to be over the top and stressful: that "love" meant expensive galas and champagne brunch, lavish vacations and coordinated holiday photographs.

But maybe it's easier than all that. Maybe it's pancake breakfasts and laughing until your ribs hurt and spontaneous sex on the kitchen counter.

Maybe it's _this_.

"That's okay," she says softly against the warm skin of Sam's shoulder. "This is just fine."

They stay wrapped in each other long enough for both of them to lose track, for time to blend into something obscure. 

\--

The thing about Sam is she tries to hold everything inside and pretend she has it all handled.

She's absolutely, impressively unflappable.

Andrea always knew this, to an extent. She used to marvel -- from a distance, and mostly with a jealous eye -- at the way Sam could keep her composure in any situation, with any crowd. She is always smooth and charming and seemingly even-keeled, especially when most people would crumble from the pressure.

It's fascinating, but it isn't necessarily the truth.

Sam is gentle, and kind, and has more empathy than is probably good for her. So when she acts like nothing bothers her, that's just what it is -- an act. And as open as Sam seems to be, and as willing as she is to share herself, Andrea is learning to navigate the parts of her that she still keeps stubbornly locked away.

Andrea's never been great at her own feelings -- a queen of self-sabotage -- but she knows how to read others. And she especially knows how to read Sam. It's a book she never thought she'd be into, kind of like when she was younger and would procrastinate on reading assignments, only to finally open the book at the eleventh hour and devour it in one night. That's the kind of feeling she gets whenever Sam is around: like she's her favorite _everything_ , and she can't believe how long it's taken her to realize it. So on days when things aren't quite right, Andrea would move the Earth just to make Sam feel okay again.

Something is off as soon as Andrea walks into her condo after an impromptu investor meeting. The place is a tornado of brooms, rags and various cleaning products scattered along every visible surface of her kitchen. She peers around the corner and catches the blur of a very fast, very out of breath Sam Arias, aggressively scrubbing the counter.

"Baby, you know Lucia is going to be here in the morning, she'll handle that," Andrea says, setting her bag down on the high top stool by the kitchen. Sam doesn't seem to notice, too busy apparently scrubbing a hole in the granite. Andrea reaches out gently, careful not to get knocked over by Sam's fast movements. "You don't have to do anything."

"I know--" Sam huffs, still not meeting Andrea's eye. She finally slows down a little, as if coming out of a trance. Andrea wonders how long this has been going on, but since half her condo is absolutely _sparkling_ , she assumes quite a while. Sam straightens up and throws her head back in exasperation, her chest heaving with anxious breaths. "Ya know, but what if Lucia had a bad day? What if she doesn't _want_ to have to fold towels tomorrow? What if, she really just needs some help--"

Her tirade drifts off and she bites her lip. Andrea swears she can see her eyes swirling with the threat of tears, which feels like someone is twisting everything in her chest and squeezing it to a level 10 of discomfort.

"Okay," Andrea nods slowly. Normally, she'd absolutely lay into Sam, teasing her relentlessly. She's impeccable at finding sassy ways to call out how ridiculous she's being, turning it into a joke they could laugh at together. But something about the frown lines etched along Sam's mouth and the way her eyebrows knit together stops the words from coming. She knows things have been tense at work, and she's sure there's more Sam isn't telling her.

It's startling, but not uncommon. She's learning that this is one of Sam's "tells" when she's on the verge of losing it.

Andrea carefully reaches out to grab Sam's forearm and with a tug, starts pulling her down the hallway.

"Since this is completely and _totally_ about Lucia and not any amount of projection," she starts, still trying to keep it somewhat light, "follow me."

Sam groans, temporarily resisting. "I'm _fine_ ," she insists, digging in her heels.

"You're not," Andrea argues. She turns around and offers a small smile as she squeezes her hand. "But that's okay. Wait here," she instructs, as she disappears toward the linen closet. As a cursory reminder, she turns back to Sam. "And for fuck's sake, don't clean anything else."

Sam chuckles in spite of her mood. She listens as Andrea continues to rummage through closets, opening and closing cabinet doors. Then there's the unmistakable sound of water running. Just as she's about to investigate, Andrea calls out to her.

Sam slowly edges herself around the doorway just as Andrea finishes lighting another candle. The lights are dim, the huge bath tub is filled, and there's soft, gentle music playing like they're in one of those new age wellness clinics that might border on transcending into cult territory. Sam wants to tease and make a joke, but as soon as she walks into the room, her body instantly relaxes, her muscles easing even though she didn't realize she was clenching them so hard.

Andrea hands her a nice full glass of wine from her perch on the side of the tub. She's still dressed to the nines in a black designer jump suit, her arms bare and toned, her gold bracelets clanging gently as she moves her wrist.

She looks so _fine_ that Sam just wants to cry about it.

"Get in sweetheart," Andrea coaxes, testing the water. Satisfied, she nods, drying her hand on a fluffy towel.

"Andy I'm fine," Sam tries, because she hates the idea of being such a burden, even if the entire thing is probably exactly what she needs. She knows Andrea won't listen, but it feels obligatory to at least give her an out.

"Give it a try? It's why I have this outrageous thing. Sometimes I like to just sit in here and forget everything for awhile." Andrea shrugs, unbothered. The image causes everything in Sam's core to tense and swirl aggressively. "And if it doesn't help, then you can forget I ever asked."

Sam melts at that. She's still not used to Andrea's brand of caring -- the way she'll pull together a whole fucking _experience_ just to make sure Sam is okay. Andrea Rojas has always been grand and over the top, but Sam never knew what it could be like when she means it.

It's completely new territory, but Sam doesn't want to fight it. She gets anxious sometimes, and overworked and overwhelmed, and there has never been anyone around long enough to deal with it. She's always just had to find other ways to cope -- cleaning frenzies, long runs, that kind of thing -- but never this. Never someone else taking the lead and telling her it's okay. That she can be taken care of sometimes, too.

She slips out of her clothes quietly and slides in, the water folding pleasantly around her in a hot, cozy envelope. The tub is grand, with golden taps and multiple jets, fitting for someone of Andrea's caliber. She tucks her legs, pulling her knees towards her chest to make sure she can fit, catching the way Andrea shakes her head.

"What?"

"Your legs really are the longest things I've ever seen," Andrea frowns, her eyes sparkling playfully. "You're quite ridiculous."

"You weren't complaining last night," Sam jokes, positioning herself so every angle of her long limbs fit perfectly.

Andrea swats her. "Be good."

Sam's chest feels warm even without the water. Just having Andrea here is soothing in and of itself. She wonders if Andrea knows that she's enough as she is.

Andrea, meanwhile, reaches over for a bottle placed near the corner of the tub and fills her hands with soap. Then, as she gets her hands wet, she glances at Sam with a questioning glance, her hands hovering just over the back of her shoulders. Sam nods softly.

Andrea's hands are gentle as she rubs slow circles down Sam's back. It's a very soothing pattern that leaves Sam feeling calm and strangely relieved. Andrea catches her eye and softens, smiling quietly to herself.

Sam likes the way she doesn't say anything or try to get her to talk. Sometimes things are just too much and Andrea seems to understand that perfectly. Instead, she perches on the corner of the tub and continues to rub her back, easy and soft, easy and soft. It isn't even sexual, it's just caring and nice. Sam sighs.

"I'm just not used to--having this," she says quietly as Andrea's fingers work along her shoulders. She's discovered a knot and Sam winces, grateful for the release. "Someone to take care of me, I guess." Andrea presses again, and Sam sucks in a breath. "It's a lot."

"Well that, and then you'd be forced to say thank you," Andrea chuckles under her breath. She smiles knowingly as Sam glances up at her. "What a nightmare."

Sam scoffs, but leans a little closer to Andrea, just in case. "Thank you," she says softly, hoping it conveys everything she feels and not just the small gratification.

Andrea doesn't answer, keeping her fingers working down the column of Sam's spine, her thumbs pressing around her shoulder blades, pausing when Sam exhales in particular pleasure. She can't bring herself to say anything, but she hopes Sam _knows_.

They sit in silence, the music soft and light, Andrea's hands magic on Sam's skin. Everything feels slower than earlier, more manageable. There wasn't anything catastrophic happening, just a build up of stress that Sam couldn't handle on her own. She hopes Andrea doesn't think less of her for it.

After several minutes, Andrea's hands slow, and Sam is lulled into an almost sleepy state. Her eyes flutter closed.

"I'll leave you to it, then," Andrea says quietly as she dries her hands. Sam is drowsy from the heat, the wine and Andrea's mastery at massages -- a fact she definitely needs to remember for later. But as soon as Andrea retreats, Sam feels almost desperate, her muscles clenching involuntarily.

"Andrea--" Sam rasps, watching as Andrea goes to stand back up. She freezes, and Sam looks away, staring hard at the bubbles in the tub as they float lazily. "S-Stay?"

Andrea pauses, but Sam catches the way her face softens, in a particular way like she's relieved, and something in Sam's chest squeezes. Andrea reaches out and steals a sip of wine. "Okay," she agrees, grinning.

Sam reaches for her hand, slotting their fingers together. She knows her skin is damp and clammy, but Andrea hums at the contact and settles back next to the tub as if there is no place in the world she'd rather be. Sam studies her out of the corner of her eye, still baffled at how she almost had this all wrong. How she almost had _Andrea_ all wrong.

"You might be the sweetest person I know," Sam says loosely, forgetting to be guarded, forgetting to think about anything except what she feels. She knows this is out of bounds for them -- they still prefer to dance around their deeper feelings -- but she's sure they're both on the same page.

This feels important. Andrea has to know she's _good_.

"I'm not," Andrea starts to argue, stiffening slightly. Her eyes widen in near-panic before she shrugs it off. "You obviously don't know a lot of people."

"I know enough," Sam says, squeezing her hand once. She smiles when Andrea's eyes flutter over her. "Andy, it's not a bad thing."

Andrea is quiet at that, shaking her head as she avoids Sam's eyes. She stares at the water hard like she's lost in deep thought, and Sam can only guess what she's thinking. Andrea is always torn between the person she thinks she should be, and the person she really is.

What she says next is absolutely the last thing Sam expects to hear.

"I'd move back, you know," Andrea practically whispers, and Sam isn't sure she's understanding.

"You mean... to Metropolis?"

Andrea nods, so subtle Sam almost doesn't catch it.

"You miss it?" Sam asks, careful not to push too hard, her heartbeat thudding in her chest and filling her ears with a dull roar.

"I'm just _saying_ \--" Andrea emphasizes, still refusing to look at Sam directly. "I can work from anywhere. It's as good a place as any."

"You'd move there ...for me?" Sam reiterates. She exhales a long breath, her pulse quickening. It's a stretch, probably. But she didn't know she'd been aching to hear those words, or some sort of affirmation that this is real since it started. And now that it's happening, everything feels like it's spinning.

Andrea... living in the same city? It's almost too much to process.

Andrea shrugs it off, still calm and nonchalant. "National City is too sunny," she huffs, and Sam knows immediately it isn't about the weather. "I miss the seasons. And a reason to be somewhere."

"Yeah?"

"Don't let it go to your head. And I don't mean I'm moving _tomorrow_." Andrea rolls her eyes, flicking water that splashes against Sam's arm. "But yeah. It'd be worth it...to me."

"Can I say something?" Sam sits up a little straighter, angling herself so she's facing Andrea directly.

"Must you?" Andrea jokes, her smile stretching a little wider in that way she has when she teases. She splashes Sam's arm again playfully.

"Hey!" Sam exclaims, splashing her lightly back.

Andrea's nose crinkles as the water hits her arm, and it's there, in the teasing, the laughter, in her beautiful face, her bright, swirling eyes--

"--I love you," Sam blurts, right there, right in the middle of everything. She wanted to say something more eloquent, or something a little less dramatic, but it tumbles out chaotic and strong and she can't take it back. And she doesn't want to, because she does. She loves Andrea more than she can contain, more than she ever knew was possible, and she's convinced it hasn't even reached its peak.

Andrea's laughter stops and everything in the room seems to freeze. But Sam pushes on. "--And you don't have to say it back but I just need you to hear it once because if I don't tell you, I'll explode and--"

"--I love you too," Andrea breathes, quickly and forcefully insistent. She looks up to the ceiling in exasperation, her lips twisting. She hits the side of the tub in frustration as she looks back at her. "I-- _God_ , Sam. You know, you have no right--"

Sam leans forward, her mouth stopping Andrea's ill-advised speech, their lips slotting together, pushing insistently against any space left. Andrea's hands frame Sam's face, and she pulls her desperately in, sighing against her mouth.

"You can't just say that--" Andrea starts, jerking back, but Sam kisses her again.

"I love you," Sam repeats, breathless.

"But--"

"No buts," Sam insists, kissing her lips, her cheeks, her forehead. "I love you."

"I love you too," Andrea finally relents, relaxing against her lips. She kisses Sam again, fully, before pulling back. She shakes her head, an airy chuckle escaping as she rolls her eyes. "I really fucking do."

Sam presses her forehead against Andrea's, closing her eyes and listening to her slow, even breaths.

"I want to make it work, okay? I do," Andrea says, and Sam smiles through closed lids.

"Okay," Sam agrees, grinning as she pulls back. She opens her eyes and sees the depth of Andrea's feelings peeking out over trembling lips. Her heart skips a beat. "I'd like that very much."

\----

Andrea: Lunch today? You can pick...

It's innocent enough. A short text, a tentative invitation. Lena frowns. She ruminates over her morning coffee, feeling bitter and nostalgic, which seem to be her only emotions these days. That could be considered an improvement, depending on how deep you want to pry. Mostly, she shoves her feelings down and ignores it all until everything fades to a dull, persistent ache.

It's been several months since she has seen Andrea outside of work. Granted, she hasn't exactly gone out of her way, but that's neither here nor there. What matters is that time truly flies when lost in self-loathing. She half snarls to herself as she idly checks her e-mails, defaulting to work mode to pretend she has some semblance of control over anything in her life. But her thoughts drift deliberately, once again, to everything that seems to be missing.

She had so proudly declared that they all needed to move on, that everyone deserved better than how they were acting, so why can't she take her own advice and _get it together_ already?

They were so _close_. She almost got back on even footing with Andrea, she almost earned back Sam's trust. They were inches away from repairing their fractured, tortuous relationship, becoming nearly civil, and then...

Well, and then, Lena decided to play with fire and ultimately detonated a bomb. So now, her ex-girlfriend is dating her ex-fiancée, and that's perfect.

She's happy it all worked out between Andrea and Sam. Truly. Or she _wants_ to be. But there's still something that needles its way between her ribs, poking at her late at night, the loneliness her only companion when she's trying to get some sleep.

It's not that Andrea hasn't made an effort. This isn't the first text message with an olive branch attached, but Lena typically never follows up with a time and Andrea doesn't force it, either. Lena knows Andrea, even after all this time-- she knows she's waiting to be invited, waiting for Lena to make the call, but she hasn't been able to fake enough enthusiasm for a reunion. Andrea, for all her bravado and grandstanding is not one to impose, and Lena appreciates the way she softly and silently gives her space. Even if she doesn't know what to do with it.

Maybe she shouldn't have gotten involved. Maybe she should have tried harder to choose between them. Maybe none of it matters in the end, and Andrea and Sam were always destined to find each other. It's too late to consider the 'what ifs' anyway. What's done is done.

The attachment to both of them is what's so frustrating, but she's always been a glutton for punishment.

She knows what she needs to do. She needs to get it over with: rip off the band aid, and face Andrea. She's already had to see Sam more times than she'd like, which is nothing against _her_. Sam has never done anything wrong. It's just hard to see her looking regal and photoshopped like a fucking movie star, her entire body practically covered with the tattoo of new love. And Lena's heart aches, because she knows it's what Sam deserves. She deserves someone to love every part of her without condition. She deserves the world.

Lena only wishes she could give it to her.

She returns her attention back to Andrea's invitation and types out a short reply -- _burgers at 12? I'll come by CatCo_ \-- before she can talk herself out of it.

Andrea stares down at her phone, a cheerful warmth spreading through her chest. Lena has been reluctant to return to her messages, so the fact that she's willing to meet for lunch means things might not be so bad, after all.

She doesn't blame Lena. The whole situation is awkward, to put it mildly. But she can't help how she feels, can't help that her entire plan to take Sam down only ended in the most extreme plot twist of all time. She never expected to fall in love.

And she really, _really_ never expected Sam to love her back.

The café area on the ground floor of CatCo is bustling, but Andrea finds a quiet table towards the back corner of the space, away from curious eyes. It's hard to have a low key lunch when two of the world's most notorious CEO's are at the same table, but the people at CatCo are at least trained enough to give Andrea space.

A throat clears, jolting her out of her thoughts, and there's Lena, grinning sheepishly with a bag of fast food like no time has passed at all.

"Lena," Andrea croons. She turns her phone face down and stands, her arms open. Lena hesitates, but allows herself to be folded into a hug. "You look wonderful, as always, damn you."

"Ha," Lena pulls back gently, rolling her eyes in that self-deprecating way she always has. Andrea can't help the smile that stretches across her face -- she's genuinely happy to be here, happy to see Lena, so much so that she catches herself thinking just for a second things might be able to be normal.

"You look....happy," Lena finally says as they get settled, both tentatively picking at wrappers and searching the discarded bags for napkins. "It suits you."

"I am," Andrea confirms, her cheeks bright and bulbed. She shrugs it off, but Lena knows it's a big deal for Andrea to admit happiness without a quip or a jab.

"And Sam?"

"She's--" Andrea's eyelids flutter and she gets a dreamy look on her face. Every single one of her features seems to illuminate, just a fraction more than normal. She bites her lip and smirks to herself. "She's Sam."

Lena knows what that means. It's really the only way to describe Sam. She's so uniquely her, and it's reassuring that Andrea seems to recognize it, too. But it stings a little. She can't help but wonder what it would be like for someone to light up like this when talking about _her_. She thinks about Sam again with a twinge of regret.

She should be more upset. Andrea has no right to go picking up her discarded pieces, taking them in like they're her own and turning them into something better. But Sam is not anyone's leftovers. She's always been her own masterpiece. Lena reaches for her bag quietly, focusing on the contents and trying to sort out her feelings. She can't be mad that Andrea is too smart to let something like this -- a grand chance at love -- spoil. If anything, Lena is the one left out past her expiration, wondering where it all went so wrong.

"You've been avoiding me," Andrea says softly. It isn't harsh, the way she can sometimes be. It's...sad.

"I haven't--" Lena immediately tries to defend but Andrea gives her the ever-effective _don't give me that bullshit_ look and Lena caves. "Self preservation," Lena confesses.

"I'm so sorry, Lena," Andrea says, frowning. She studies the table, hard, but Lena knows there isn't going to be anything else for her to say. It's not entirely her fault, after all. Lena played a role in this entire charade, and she doesn't own the rights to anyone's feelings.

Lena eventually waves her off. "Don't be," she says strongly. "It's my own sensitivity. Always been a weakness."

"You have never been weak," Andrea replies quickly. She reaches across the table for Lena's hands. Lena almost balks, but she allows Andrea's fingers to clasp her own. "You're the strongest person I know."

Lena scoffs, but something takes hold in her chest, anchoring her firmly. She really wishes she could go back -- back to a less complicated time where the woman across from her was her best friend in the world and they didn't have all this baggage between them. But the fact that they're here now means everything. She squeezes Andrea's hand once before letting go.

"Well I won't be imposing on you much longer... " Andrea says, her words drifting. Lena feels a small jolt. "I'm going to give the other coast another try soon."

"You hate cold weather."

"I do," Andrea agrees, shrugging. "But.."

She doesn't finish her sentence, but she doesn't have to. Lena sees it: the way Andrea blushes and bites her lip, the way she glances away almost embarrassed without saying anything. She loves Sam, and it's written all over her face. She might not outright say it, or gush like most people would, but Lena knows it's true.

It's a surprising relief, actually, now that Lena can see it for herself. She realizes part of her was afraid Andrea was still playing games, fucking with Sam only to win or prove a point. That would be classic Andrea, and Lena is all too familiar with her flair for the dramatic. But this is the most genuine, and the most vulnerable, that she's ever seen her. Lena exhales a shaky breath.

"I think that's great, Andy," Lena says. Her eyes sting as she fights back some tears. "I am going to miss you, though. I was only just starting to get used to having you back around."

"Me too," Andrea says with a watery chuckle. "Good thing we're rich though, right?" She leans in with a conspiratorial smile. "That private jet is more useful than I ever thought."

Lena barks out a laugh. It's just so Andrea, so classically blunt, that it hits her once again why she always loved having her. They used to talk about things they really shouldn't talk about and they acted like the world was all some kind of joke that only the two of them were part of. It was always intoxicating to be part of Andrea's orbit.

Somehow, Andrea is still that girl with impossible dreams who knows she deserves them, pulling Lena along because she believes she deserves them, too.

"Thank you for still being there for me...despite...everything," Andrea gestures vaguely. "Really."

"Yeah well," Lena sniffles, shrugging. She offers a small smile. "You jump, I jump, right?"

Andrea's smile flashes bright.

"Right," she nods. She checks her watch with a nervous frown. "I've got a meeting across town in a few, but I'll catch up with you soon? I still haven't made any definite moving plans so--"

"Yeah," Lena breaks in. "Of course. I'd like that."

For once, she means it.

Lena hangs back after Andrea leaves. She feels lighter, somehow. For the first time, she actually feels like she can breathe. As she makes her way toward the door, she's staring at her phone when she crashes into what feels like a brick wall. Her phone goes skittering across the ground, her purse landing with a loud thunk.

"Oh!" a woman -- not a wall -- says, a blush creeping along her cheeks. She bends down and gathers Lena's purse so quickly that Lena doesn't even have a chance to offer to help before the bag and her phone are back in her hands. It happens in a flash, an instant. "I'm so sorry!"

Lena's gaze land on the stranger's -- her eyes are an impossible otherworldly blue, her hair the kind of golden like it's been kissed by the sun itself. She tilts her head and smiles softly, so softly that Lena can't even remember her own name for what feels like a full minute.

The woman's eyes suddenly go wide as if she's remembering something and she points.

"You're Lena Luthor!" she declares, mouth agape. The way she says it doesn't come out accusatory, but something more like awe. Lena doesn't know what to make of that. She nods, slightly unsure. The beautiful stranger adjusts her glasses timidly, her eyes never leaving Lena's face. Lena crosses her arms, feeling something warm flutter and bloom in her chest. She tries not to let it show on her face as she appraises the stranger with practiced confidence.

"Yes that's right," she says, patiently. The woman's eyelashes flutter. There's something so familiar about her, but Lena is sure she'd never forget a face like that. She feels like it's important, somehow, the two of them being here in this moment, at the exact same time. She offers a curious smile.

"And who are you, exactly?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not the ending anyone was expecting, but hopefully still a good one  
> lots of reasons for why i went the direction i did... and i think its suitable for how the characters were written, and i really just felt like reignjas needed their endgame
> 
> thanks for indulging in this rarepair telenovela - i really enjoyed writing it
> 
> :) stennnn06 on tumblr

**Author's Note:**

> @stennnn06 on tumblr... send prompts or ideas so all 2 of us that love this idea can keep it rollin


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